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CONSTANCE 


BY 


THERESE BENTZAN 

I o ' n 




TRANSLATED BY 

ELIZABETH NEW McKEEN 





F. TENNYSON 

NEELY 

114 Fifth Avenue 

96 Queen Street 

NEW YORK 

LONDON 




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MAY. 19 1902 


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COPVHIOMT entry 


CLA^ <^XXc. No. 


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COPY B. 

Copyright, 1902, 
by 

F. TENNYSON NEELY, 
s. in the 
United States 
and 

Great Britain. 
Entered at Stationer's Hall, 


London. 


All Bights Reserved. 


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CONSTANCE. 


CHAPTER 1. 

Nearly ten years elapsed since a placard nailed 
upon the wall separating the Park from the Oak 
Forest had home the following inscription : 

ESTATE FOR SALE. 

Undivided, or in lots. 

Address, Rev. Monsieur Duranton. 

Rue Sully, Nerac. 

The words were gradually growing faded and 
dim from long exposure to the wintry rains and 
the ardent summer suns, and yet the old Char- 
treuse had found no purchaser. 

The peasants, like so many greedy ants devour- 
ing their prey, had gradually divided among them- 
selves the few acres of loam land pertaining to the 
estate, which lay as a boundary, keenly traced by 
the hand of Nature, between the fertile meadows on 
the one hand and the opposing land of Albret. But 
the chateau, desolately dilapidated, remained to 


2 


Constance. 


M. Dnranton, whose financial circumstances pre- 
cluded all possibility of his occupying it, and 
whose religious duties, moreover, necessitated his 
residing in the village. 

No one, apparently, would permit himself the 
luxury of being tempted by the superb iron gates, 
nor yet the terrace, commanding as it did, a mag- 
nificent view of the infinitely multiplied vineyards 
and greenly carpeted slopes of the Gelise. 

Although the Chartreuse of the bourgeoise is 
not a remarkably imposing structure, consisting, 
at best, of a ground floor, surmounted by a gabled 
roof, with quaint dormer windows; still it might 
be said that the stretch of fagade with its five 
windows was not lacking in a certain grandeur 
in the eyes of the unpretentious inhabitants of 
the village and surrounding rural districts; they 
preferred to wait stoically until it should for the 
most part fall into ruins, and then buy what was 
left of it. 

The weeds grew in random profusion, choking 
the modest decorative effort of the little pedestal 
near by, and the tendrils of the climbing ivy en- 
twined themselves in peaceful security about the 
closed blinds. 

During the lifetime of Madame Nougarede 
(the mother of Madame Duranton), the long stone 
steps had been adorned with the brightness of 
blooming plants, but now, alas, they, too, fell un- 
der the ban of lamentable sadness and desolation. 

Unfortunately, Madame left no heritage beyond 
this one estate, and her son-in-law had neither 
time nor inclination to devote to it, nor yet the 
wherewithal to maintain it. 


Constance. 


3 


His parish was extensive, and beside his five 
sons, he had several pupils, who afforded abun- 
dant distraction for him in his spare moments — 
not to mention his taste for certain subjects to- 
tally foreign to agriculture; namely, poetry and 
archaeology. 

His absorbing ambition lay in an authentic re- 
establishment of the antiquities of Nerac, — for 
they had been sadly compromised by certain 
frauds, of which even the most competent judges 
had been dupes. He had drawn up a document 
upon the destruction of the Gallo-Eoman villa, 
with the causes which led up to it ; which had been 
heartily approved by the Archaeological Congress. 
He was, as well, an ardent advocate of the ^^Mo- 
saics,'^ discovered upon the banks of the Gelise; 
they had even inspired him to write a sonnet, that 
sparkled among the poetical flowers which M. 
Fangere-Dubourg (a learned and witty Gascon,) 
had woven into a wreath rivaling that of Julie. 

It would have been difficult to count the numer- 
ous sonnets, quatrains, epithalamiums and 
rhymes of which Eeverend M. Duranton had 
been guilty, despite the overplus of duties with 
which he struggled valiantly. Scarcely anything 
transpired in his parish, but he was requested to 
use it as a theme for a few poetical lines. 

He was wont to seek his inspiration amid the 
groves and shrubbery of the Park, harking to the 
requiem of nature’s songsters, the while silently 
lamenting Madame Duranton’s resolve to convert 
the trees into salable logs. She was a rude cru- 
sader against the superfluous, and saw little beyond 
the interests of the Church and her immediate 


4 


Constance. 


family. It was not difficult to foretell that the 
pastor^s determination to maintain the forest in- 
tact would eventually be overcome, lest he be ac- 
cused of too great a yearning toward the vani- 
ties of the earth, and of being less firm in goodly 
virtue than his wife, whose name was at once an 
example and terror to the entire comunity. 

His esthetic tastes found their only echo in 
his daughter Henriette, who exulted in the use- 
less beauties of Nature even more extravagantly 
than he, — for which shortcoming her mother chas- 
tised her with Calvinistic rigor. 

However, Henriette’s complicity in favor of the 
menaced Dryads (as the pastor would doubtless 
have expressed it in his eclogues) failed of its pur- 
pose. Negotiations were pending with a contrac- 
tor for the purchase of the wood, but fortunate- 
ly, as it chanced, the sale remained uncompleted 
when the long prayed for, but scarce expected 
miracle came to pass. 

A purchaser for the park presented himself. 
Henriette, who possessed a mind ever fertile in 
imaginative resource, upon her first glimpse of 
him s-t him down as a nabob from no less a place 
than Paris itself. 

As it happened, Madame Duranton was paying 
her daily round of visits to the sick of the parish, 
and the one maid of the household was absent in 
quest of the daily provisions, leaving only Mile. 
Henriette to open the door to this providential 
messenger. 

The Duranton domicile was in old Nerac, near 
the bridge whose imposing feudal architecture, 
stately and picturesque, unites the old and new 


Constance. 5 

portions of the town. This home, be it said, was 
merely remarkable for its habitual disorder, indus- 
trioudy maintained by a troop of mischievous 
youngsters; M. Duranton’s study alone escaped 
the general turbulence, and here Henrietta es- 
corted the stranger — her heart palpitating with 
emotion mingled with a touch of vexation at being 
caught in a morning neglige. She listened atten- 
tively to the explanation of the stranger^s visit, 
then ran to the schoolroom where her father was 
laboring over the morning^s duties. 

^^Go quickly,^^ she whispered ; ^^a prince as beau- 
tiful as the day has come to purchase the Park.^^ 

The pastor, greatly confused by this unlooked- 
for occurrence, arose precipitately, unmindful of 
the unfinished lesson, and heedless of the scarce 
suppressed joy this occurrence elicited from his 
pupils. 

He hurriedly shook himself into his newest ec- 
clesiastical frock, and nervously patted down the 
grey wig which his distrait fingers were constantly 
pushing back from his broad, olive countenance, 
which was less distingue uhan frank and sympa- 
thetic. 

Hastily buttoning his coat awry, still flurried 
over the news, he entered the room where awaited 
the ^^prince as beautiful as the day,^^ of whom Hen- 
riette had spoken. Prince, — ^perhaps — but beauti- 
ful? — from whence hail the ideas of foolish little 
lassies ? He bowed low, with a nervous, question- 
ing smile upon his lips. An instant later M. 
de Glenne had graciously introduced himself, ex- 
plaining that having been desirous of visiting this 
corner of the Midi for some time, he had taken 


6 


Constance. 


this opportunity, as he returned from a tour 
through Spain; a chance walk had taken him in 
the vicinity of the Park. He had, it developed, 
long desired to possess a cottage somewhere in the 
midst of a forest far from the traveled highways. 

^^These fancies come to most townsmen,’^ he 
added, ^^but few attain to a realization of them; 
perhaps I shall be an exception, if we can come 
to an understanding. — The location pleases me 
very much ; I should be as exempt from the bur- 
den of social neighbors as Eobinson Crusoe.” 

^^Certainly, if you choose to turn your face 
forestward,” replied M. Duranton, a trifle 
shocked to hear the Chartreuse (the pride of his 
wife’s ancestors) spoken of as a cottage. ^^The 
district of Nerac is thickly settled; while the town 
is ten miles distant, we have within thirty minutes’ 
walk a village possessing certain resources your 

family may not disdain. The ladies 

have no family,” interrupted M. de Glenne; 
live alone.” 

^^Eeally ? Are you not afraid that ” 

^That I shall be lonely? I shall not remain 
long enough at a time for that.” 

^‘Then you will superintend the repairs ; — direct 
the workmen, an occupation always absorbing,” 
said M. Duranton hastily, to cover his blunder. 

^^Oh, I shall leave the little bicoque its air of 
desolation, as far as is compatible with comfort — 
the desolation enhances its charm ; for me — I shall 
do merely what I consider indispensable.” 

^Tf you are fond of hunting,” persisted M. Du- 
ranton, determined to disarm such indifference, 
‘^you will find the ring doves very numerous about 


Constance. 7 

here; that will afford you some recreation during 
September and March/^ 

^^Yes/^ said the Parisian, with a disdainful grim- 
ace, presume they trap them by the dozen; 
for the very reason that I am a sportsman, that 
sort of thing could have very little attraction for 
me/^ 

^^Here,^^ thought M. Duranton, ^^is certainly a 
very difficult person to please/^ However, he con- 
tinued to enumerate the advantages and conven- 
iences of the place until his interlocutor inter- 
rupted him again with a smile, saying: 

^Terhaps you anticipate asking me a very high 
price 

The amount ventured timidly transformed the 
smile into a frank laugh. 

^^Very good. I see I may humor my caprice; 
you say there is a village very near here 

^^Quite an important one about three miles dis- 
tant. You can find anything in the way of pro- 
visions, and more, an excellent physician, my 
brother-in-law. Dr. Vidal, — you may perhaps have 
heard of him? No? Then you cannot have been 
long about here, for I am not boastful in saying 
he has a widespread reputation as a man of tal- 
ent, a student withal. But pardon me, I am trans- 
gressing. The village boasts a great attraction 
in its church, a sixteenth century relic. Are you a 
Catholic, Monsieur ?^^ 

am not a Protestant, was the evasive an- 
swer. 

M. Duranton doubtless appeared very inquisi- 
tive; it is a provincial habit, and strongly accen- 


Constance. 


tuated in the Midi, but accompanied the while by 
such simplicity it rarely offends. 

^^Will you instruct your notary to prepare the 
deeds at once?’^ said M. de Glenne^ after a mo- 
mentary pause. 

^^Immediately cried M. Duranton, who until 
he heard these decisive words had been pursued 
by the fear that his purchaser was simply a delu- 
sion. ^^Immediately. I beg of you, Monsieur, to 
favor me once more with your name.^^ 

He was presented with a visiting card, which 
bore the name of Eaoul de Glenne, and a Paris- 
ian address quite lost upon M. Duranton, who had 
visited that city but upon one memorable occasion, 
when his mind was scarcely in a receptive frame. 

^^De Glenne — de Glenne,’^ he repeated mechan- 
ically, seeking to collect his thoughts; suddenly 
he passed his fingers though his hair with an air 
of satisfaction. 

^That article upon Montluc, two — perhaps 
three years ago, very remarkable. Are you per- 
chance related to its author 

^^You are very flattering, I am sure; I am the 
author.^^ 

^^Ah! Why, you are almost a neighbor!’’ cried 
the pastor, stretching forth his hand. ^^There was 
a superb page upon the battle, or rather the butch- 
ery of Logatere. . . I venture to say you were 

quite near here, in visiting your battlefield. My 
compliments. Monsieur; it was written by a sol- 
dierly hand.” 

^^I was a soldier ; I began my career in the army, 
unfortunately, by defeat and captivity.” 

^Trisoner in Germany ?” asked the pastor, whose 


Constance. 


d 


curiosity was readily aroused ; M. de Glenne 
turned away without replying, and a shadow of 
suffering passed over his expressive features. 

too, have a drop of soldier blood in me ; my 
father retired from service as a captain; but the 
services he rendered the government might readily 
have been envied by a superior officer; vain titles 
to glory that availed us little, he added sadly, in 
his turn. 

should fancy the honor of it might suffice,’^ 
said M. de Glenne dryly. 

^^Certainly, certainly,^^ stammered the pastor, 
confused at having explained himself so poorly; 
^‘1 intended to say that. My sister was reared at 
St. Denis, like the daughter of a legionnaire; it 
was she who married the Dr. Vidal of whom I 
spoke a moment ago.^^ 

said M. de Glenne, indifferently rolling 
a cigarette. ^^When do you think we can sign the 
deeds 

^^If you wish it, we can go together to M. La- 
rose,^^ responded the pastor precipitately, still 
afraid his prey would escape him. — moment; 
I will be with you at once.^^ 

He ran to the schoolroom, where the boys, en- 
gaged in a game of tag, were surprised in the 
very midst of it, having tumbled the chairs in 
every direction, and stood anticipating their pun- 
ishment ; but M. Duranton was oblivious to every- 
thing, absorbed entirely in the approaching trans- 
action. 

^^Yery well, boys, very welV^ he said, with an 
air of distraction. ^^Eun away now. We have had 


10 Constance. 

work enough for this morning. You may return 
at two.^^ 

As he hurriedly descended the stairs with his 
hat slouched over his face, he encountered his wife, 
who was returning home with that air of compunc- 
tion born of Biblical readings at the bedside of 
the parish sick. 

^‘1 have sold the Park,^^ he whispered triumph- 
antly in her ear. 

^^What! from one hour to the next, without 
consulting me?^^ 

could not allow the opportunity to escape, 
my dear.^^ 

presume you sold it for a song?’^ she que- 
ried anxiously. 

^^Why, for the amount we agreed upon only 
yesterday/^ he replied, now a little troubled in his 
turn. 

^^You are a fool, my dear — worse even. We 
agreed upon leaving it at that price rather than 
keep it, . . . but first you should 

^^Bah, there is no remedy for it now,^^ and he 
continued his hasty course downward, four steps 
at a time, while she muttered peevishly: 

^^You will never understand business — never 

Madame^s growing anger found occasion at 
once to expend itself, for pushing open the school- 
room door, she perceived at a glance the havoc of 
the morning. 

^^Ah, you shall be punished for this I” she cried 
to the urchins who scattered wildly in every di- 
rection. Seizing the ruler she so frequently em- 
ployed with disastrous results, she vented her 
spleen upon Louison (her youngest son) in default 


Constance. 


n 


of the others who had been fortunate enough to 
make good their escape; he now beheld his evil 
genius leading him upon the scene to suffer for 
the pranks of his companions, in which, as it 
chanced, he had not participated. 

Meanwhile, the pastor hurried M. de Glenne 
to the office of M. Larose, bragging ceaselessly the 
while upon the capital of Albret — from its chateau 
and its rabbits, to its library and museum, even 
eulogizing its famous earthen pots ; with numerous 
commentaries upon his reasons for advocating the 
ethnology of Necronis agae as against the Ner. 
ag. of M. de Villeneuve-Bargemonth, which he 
held so unjustifiable. 


12 


Constance. 


CHAPTEE II. 

Almost at the same moment a cab drew up be- 
fore the street entrance of the Duranton home, the 
fagade of which was not without a certain resem- 
blance to the Hotel Sully, of which it might at 
one time have been a dependence. 

The cab reeking with yellow mud (of which the 
low lands were so prodigal after a rain), was driven 
by an old man in a coarse, blue woolen shirt and 
cap, more maitre de fiacre than coachman. A 
young girl of delicate brunette type, with the essen- 
tial large black eyes, alighted hurriedly. Madame 
Duranton appeared in the doorway to greet her. 

^Ts your father not coming for dejeuner she 
questioned, upon seeing her alone. 

Another disappointment; Auntie la Pistolere 
is ill, dangerously so ; he cannot leave her.’^ 

^^How unfortunate; I had prepared a dejeuner 
exactly to his taste.^^ 

^^You know it is useless to count upon him with 
any certainty,^^ the young woman replied, as, lay- 
ing aside her hat, she uncovered an abundance of 
glossy black hair, a fitting crown for her regular 
type of beauty. 

Mile. Vidal was a charming creature; the sim- 
plicity of her apparel might have been inspired by 
the most consummate coquetry, it suited her so 
perfectly; the coarsest of materials draped upon 
her were equivalent to a statue of the renaissance. 


Constance. 


13 


She was of the Grecian type^ with gracious man- 
nerisms and spiritual expression. Her contempt 
for dress, however, had nothing premeditated in 
it, as those who knew her best could attest ; it arose 
merely from her secluded country life with a father 
who considered her beautiful enough without the 
addition of gaudy apparel. 

^^The doctor would have been doubly welcome 
this morning, with his practical advice, for good- 
ness knows your uncle is sadly in need of it when 
it comes to defending his interests,^^ said Madame 
Duranton; ^^he has sold the Park.^^ 

cried Constance with a sigh. ^Tardon 
me, dear aunt, for not rejoicing, for even feeling a 
little sorry. I have spent so many happy hours 
there.^^ 

^^It is true,^^ echoed Henriette, ^^and we all re- 
gret it, but mama would dispose of it. I presume 
after all, it is best that it should pass into the 
hands of a rich man who can afford to leave the 
forest intact and maintain the place as it should 
be. He intends living in a style that will aston- 
ish all the country side.^^ 

^^What do you know of his plans queried her 
mother. 

^^t is quite sufficient to have seen him. Imagine, 
Stany, a face, and maAners,^^ Henriette completed 
her sentence with the most expressive gestures of 
ecstacy, long moustache, too, fine as silk, and 
the most disconcerting, fascinating way of looking 
at you. Just fancy me in my old grey dress, too; 
he must have thought me hideous.^^ 

^That can make little difference to you,’^ said 
she who had been addressed as Stany, 


14 Constance. 

^^How? No difference? Yon can afford to 
speak indifferently, for yon are always snre of 
looking pretty; as for me, a tonch of elegance is 
absolntely necessary if I am to look even presenta- 
ble/^ 

^^One might fancy yon anticipated tnming the 
head of this nnknown, who has tnmbled from no 
one knows where/^ 

^^Any one conld tell he is a Parisian. How 
fortnnate the women who can select their hns- 
bands from snch men.” 

^Tshaw, perhaps he doesnH amount to anything 
in spite of his fine appearance,” ventured Stany, 
very reasonably. 

‘^Good!” exclaimed Madame Dnranton, seizing 
a few hints from the conversation as she passed 
back and forth through the dining-room. ^^That 
is most sensibly spoken; I wonder what will be- 
come of Henriette, she is more frivolous than ever. 
Gowns, dancing, novels, and matrimony — one 
might imagine she lived for nothing else. Your 
duty, Mademoiselle, is to assist me to properly rear 
your little brothers, that should be your first care.” 

is my care, mama ; I should fib if I called it 
my pleasure. I did not choose to have five 
brothers, and I do envy an only child with all my 
heart; they are always spoiled and do just as 
they please. Is it not true, Stany T\ 

^^If you fear your God, you will honor your 
father and mother ; you should serve as your mas- 
ters those who gave you life,” said Madame Duran- 
ton, scripturally reminding her daughter that it 
[was left to her to lay the table. 

It was Constance, however, who profited by the 


Constance. 


15 


lesson in aiding her aunt zealously. As for Hen- 
riette, she shrugged her shoulders impatiently and 
leaned out of the window to await her father’s re- 
turn. 

^^Here he is at last/’ she cried. ^^Now he will 
tell us about it.” 

They scarcely allowed the good man time to ask 
grace; he was assailed throughout dinner with 
questions about the Parisian, of whom he seemed 
disposed to speak favorably, having agreed with 
him upon the historical grants of land by Nero 
to the veterans in Gaul. 

^^Not the slightest discord arose between us,” 
he said, rubbing his hands, and thinking entirely 
of his ethnologies. 

should think not,” grumbled Madame Duran- 
ton, who thought merely of the sale, ^^he found a 
great bargain.” 

^^And so did we, Edelmone; so did we.” 

Monsieur Nougarede, an ardent admirer of 
Shakespeare as translated by Ducis, had christ- 
ened his daughter with this name, which even 
Othello might have found difficult to recognize 
as meaning Ophelia. 

^^He removes a terrible thorn from our flesh,” 
continued the pastor, with a sigh of relief. 
should like to have had your father, Stany, but, 
poor doctor, he is never to be caught. Oh, I 
know it is not his fault ; we are, he and I, each in 
our own way, at the beck and call of every one. 
I trust we may be pardoned a great deal for the 
hardships we are forced to endure here. Had he 
met M. de Glenne, he would have found him as 
charming as I did.” 


16 Constance. 

^^What did I tell you exclaimed Henriette to 
her cousin. 

^^You^ little one, could not judge him so quickly. 
I do not refer to his appearance, but to his wit 
and learning, which seem very extensive; he has 
written some excellent criticisms and historical 
essays, man of the world that he is; then too, he 
interested himself in my researches. And,^^ con- 
tinuing in a lower tone, as if to himself, ^^this M. 
de Glenne is of a terrible world, even though he 
seems disgusted with himself. He retains a kind 
of fever, which, thank God, we are spared in our 
provinces; he bears the marks, so to speak; he is 
a man whose agitated life has caused him a great 
deal of suffering, or my experience goes for 
naught.^^ 

^^That is exactly why he pleases me so mueh,^^ 
gushed Henriette with her usual spontaneity; ‘^1 
wondered what could be the reason ; he appeals to 
me because he lacks that heavy, dull, virtuous air.’^ 

^^Henriette,^^ cried her mother, exasperated, 
^Vhat a pity your twenty years protect you from 
a whipping; you deserve it far more than your 
brothers.''^ 

The recollection of the one he had received, now 
caused Louison to burst into tears, his grief in- 
tensified by the appearance of a fine jelly tart, 
when, as an additional punishment, he had been 
deprived of participating in the desert. 

^^What is the matter with you?’^ asked his 
father. 

^^Go and see the condition in which they have 
left the schoolroom, said Madame Duranton, ex- 
tending her arms to intensify her horror. 


Constance. 


17 


did not do it/’ sobbed the child. 

^^It was not Louison/^ repeated his brothers, now 
seized with remorse. 

^^In that case it was you, you scamps; I shall 
provide each of you with a task to perform, said 
M. Duranton without the forceful indignation to 
impress the youngsters. ^^Here, Louison, take this 
cookie and dry your tears ; as for you, Henriette, I 
trust you may never have occasion to discover 
that too virtuous a countenance is the least of a 
husband^s faults; moreover^ you need encourage 
no illusions upon the subject of the master of 
the Park; a confirmed bachelor, rich and aristo- 
cratic, has no idea of coming from Paris to Nerac 
in search of a wife.^^ 

^^At all events, I willingly resign him to Hen- 
riette,^^ said Constance gaily, a blush heightening 
the brilliancy of her dark eyes. 

^^Yes, I know if we have anything to dread for 
you, it is more likely the convenV^ and the pastor 
drew her to him a little sadly. 

shall never forget that father has need of 

me.^^ 

M. Duranton laid his hand upon her head with 
a gesture of benediction, gently lifting her face to 
look into her dark eyes. 

^^Mon Dieu/' he said, ^^how much you resemble 
your mother; you grow more and more like her 
every day.^^ 


18 


Constance. 


CHAPTEE III. 

Constance Vidal was, in truth, the speaking 
image of Marguerite Duranton, at the time she had 
caused her brother the unutterable sorrow of sepa- 
rating from him upon religious grounds. This 
spiritual desertion was in a measure attributable 
to Captain Duranton, who had taken far too much 
pride in his daughter's beauty and intelligence. 
She was in his eyes the delicate, priceless pearl of 
the family. No one could have dreamed she 
sprang from a race of Albigeois peasants, hewn 
from the solid granite of the Cevennes. Her 
transparent skin, delicate profile, and tapering 
fingers gave her the air of a little princess, and 
her father, in his idolatry, desired she should re- 
ceive the education of one. 

Moreover, as a widower, possessing no fortune 
but his pension, it was hardly probable he would 
refuse the advantages offered the daughters of 
officers at the Imperial house of Saint-Denis. 

His cherished Margot could there acquire, 
gratuitously, accomplishments unheard of in the 
provinces. 

Samuel, already inclined toward the Protestant 
ministry, hazarded a few objections; his sister 
was very young and defenseless to be thrust into 
such a hot-bed of Catholicishi. 

He was met here with the assurance that there 
were plenty of Protestants at Saint-Denis, and a 


Constance. 19 

minister of the Eeformation gave them sufficient 
instruction for all practical purposes. 

Although the Captain was a good Huguenot, his 
military career had robbed him in a measure of 
that fervor which had animated his ancestors and 
been transmitted intact to his son ; but, on the other 
hand, he retained their inflexible will of iron, and 
he prevailed this time as always before. Mar- 
guerite was sent to join the ten or twelve little 
Protestants, who seemed a tiny group of outcasts 
beside the four hundred Catholics at Saint-Denis. 

That southern exuberance, which she still re- 
tained in all its pristine spontaneity, suffered a 
rude shock in a place where discipline is inflexi- 
ble — retaining as it does, the strict etiquette and 
traditions of the old convent life. It was im- 
measurably bitter; she revolted inwardly against 
the rigorous law of silence, against the iron bars, 
against the leaden wintry skies so at variance with 
the blue heavens of the Midi, where the deep ochre 
of the hills was laughingly swept by the waters 
of the Baise. 

The poor little thing wrote pathetic letters, 
almost appalling descriptions of this prison buried 
in the low lands ; of its vaulted ceilings and humid 
cloisters, and still there grew upon her a sort of 
reconciliation with her surroundings. 

As she grew better weaned from the brilliancy of 
the south she suffered less from the bleak north- 
ern desolation. She had formed a friendship, too ^ 
a friendship with a child of her own age, the little 
orphan niece of the General Count de Vardes; 
and this affection, passionate and exclusive, was 
a shrine for her in her exile. 


20 Constance. 

From this period, her melancholy gradually less- 
ened ; she became a close student, even brilliant, 
following close in the footsteps of Mile, de Vardes, 
who was an intelligent, dominating spirit, a leader 
in every sense of the word. 

During the vacation spent at home the little 
Duranton spoke constantly of dear Marie, seem- 
ingly interested in little else; she prattled, too, 
of their mutual resolution never to be separated, 
to spend their lives at Saint-Denis among those 
noble women who bore the cross of the Legion 
of Honor upon their shoulders. 

‘^Tould you willingly abandon us?'^ asked her 
brother sadly. 

His alarm might have been of some avail had it 
been stimulated by the knowledge that Saint-Denis 
tolerated no Protestant governess. 

'Tshaw,'' laughed the Captain, ^deave her to 
her fancies, mere childish notions but he wrested 
from her throat, and roughly, what he was pleased 
to term an ''amulet/' a little sacred medal that 
Marie de Vardes had given her as a souvenir. 
Her childish heart bemoaned the loss of this treas- 
ure, and the following year she returned with an- 
other, more carefully concealed. 

Already a vague instinct warned Samuel that 
the Protestant faith had suffered some diminution 
with her ; he went so far as to correspond with 
the clergyman charged with the religious instruc- 
tion of the Protestants at Saint-Denis; this in- 
dividual of little perspicacity saw his young lambs 
but once each week, and his reply was couched in 
the most reassuring terms. 

Appearances, in reality, were in Marguerite^s 


Constance. 


21 


favor; from the time of her arrival at Saint-Denis 
she had never shrunk from rendering her religious 
duties bravely, even proud of the term Huguenot, 
so prodigally bestowed upon her as she went to 
mass each morning with firm step and uplifted 
brow, to join, behind the ^^grille,^^ those whose 
^Views’^ did not permit their entrance into the 
chapel. 

What no one suspected was that she exaggerated 
these exterior protestations, the better to resist the 
ascendancy of Marie, who was, be it said, unduly 
excited by this resistance in her precocious ardor 
for proselyting. Why could Marguerite not have 
accorded to one of her own faith the sympathy in- 
spired by this ardent Catholic? 

In their walks and in their studies side by side 
in the garden, the two little friends talked seri- 
ously ; Marie ventured sweeping arguments against 
the Bible as Marguerite understood it, so that 
there existed between them an interminable topic, 
whereof, it not infrequently chanced, the little 
Huguenot evinced the deepest thought and knowl- 
edge; to cause her to waver in her convictions, a 
purely sentimental incident was requisite, the 
which Mile, de Vardes unhesitatingly qualified as 
a miracle. 

This incident, as it happened, coincided with 
the imposing ceremony of the first communion. 

‘T shall pray for you,^^ Mile, de Vardes had said 
very mysteriously to her friend the night before 
her compulsory retreat, shall pray that we may 
become real sisters, as I understand it, and as I be- 
lieve God desires we should.^^ 

During their enforced retreat of eight days the 


22 


Constance. 


future communicants, under the supervision of a 
lady and several novices, are entirely separated 
from the other pupils, during recreation, at table, 
everywhere; hut their importance is, of course, a 
subject of universal admiration. 

Marguerite beheld, from a distance, her dear 
companion moving in an atmosphere of celestial 
beatitude, trebly enhanced by the purity and 
quietude of the surroundings; she was a thing 
apart, indeed, and Marie appealed to her as an 
angel in paradise, while she languished without in 
the darkness. 

During this weary week Margureite was over- 
come by the sentiment that she was continually en- 
veloped in a flood of prayer; in her dreams at 
night, a caressing voice repeated, ^^Sister, sister, 
sister,^^ like the quavering diminuendo of the 
chorister. 

At length the great day arrived — one Thursday, 
and it chanced that no lady felt herself sufficiently 
courageous to undergo the sacrifice of attending 
the few little Protestants during the ceremony, 
and they stood in a quivering little group, quite 
alone during the solemn mass followed by the ad- 
mirable procession which glided silently through 
the quadrangular cloister, lighted by its multitude 
of tinted lights, and strewn with flowers by childish 
hands. Their step fell to the low, solemn chant 
of the choir, while the mistress of ceremonies, 
whose every movement, correct and perfect, main- 
tained with utmost grace her sacred task. 

In her footsteps followed the three virgins, 
chosen particularly for the regularity of their 
beauty. Beneath long, filmy veils, their prayer- 


Constance. 


23 


books pressed closely to their breasts, they moved 
slowly forward with downcast eyes, followed by 
the long file of pupils to whom no particular role 
had been assigned, but who moved vaguely for- 
ward as the beads of a living chaplet. 

At the feet of the large stone virgin a tempo- 
rary altar had been erected before which the flower 
girls, singers, candle and censer-bearers ranged 
themselves to the right and left to await the first 
communicants who hovered about the clergy and 
the Saint Sacrement. They knelt and chanted a 
prayer, while the priest, clad in sweeping mantles, 
mounted the steps and a great silence fell upon 
them, broken now and then by the click of the 
claquoir (a signal from the mistress of ceremonies 
to throw the flowers). Amidst a shower of petals 
and a cloud of incense, the priest presented the 
Host to the four corners of the cloister, while trem- 
bling Marguerite felt her knees bend beneath her, 
and her head bow down. When she lifted it 
again she met the radiant regard of Marie, who 
silently thanked her for this act of involuntary de- 
votion. 

In the early morning, during mass, she had 
been strangely impressed by the words of a priest 
(majestically clad in long white robes) who had 
come to preach the retreat. He had told the com- 
municants to have faith, and to pray for their dead 
parents during this moment when their prayers 
went direct to God. The tenderness of the Cath- 
olic religion burst with a vast revelation upon 
the little Huguenot, and bowing to this benedic- 
tion, she felt herself singularly drawn toward a 


24 Constance. 

belief which could console a child for the loss of 
her mother. 

When she related her impressions, Marie ex- 
claimed in a transport of joy, was snre of it, 
I had prayed God so fervently for it.^^ But Mar- 
guerite replied to her, that despite her profound 
attachment, she still felt that she dared take no 
.step without consideration. 

Her conversion was not the result entirely of a 
moment of childish ecstacy, but a step she was 
destined never to retrace and which she treasured 
among her dearest memories; she questioned and 
studied laboriously, sustained in her search for 
truth by a certain Protestant rectitude, stifling 
within herself the too impulsive outbursts which 
carried her along almost in spite of herself. 

These years of struggle left their trace upon her 
whitened brow. Year after year Marguerite’s re- 
turn to Nerac for the vacation was marked by a 
deeper seriousness and reserve, which, however, 
was attributed to pride and a disdain for the sim- 
ple habits of the province. 

Her accomplishments and attainments aroused 
a certain admiration and envy in the little pro- 
vincial circle, which they said a lady must nnd 
very contracted. 

She always avoided speaking with her brother 
upon religious topics, although he frequently 
sought to talk with her about that which was very 
near to him. Evidently she cherished a secret 
from him, a secret which (more than mere ab- 
sence) separated her from her entire family. 
Captain Duranton, himself, finally became a little 
anxious; he concluded that the time had come to 


Constance. 


25 


bring her back to the home circle, and was pre- 
paring to make known his intentions when he was 
stricken with an attack of apoplexy, and death 
intervened to spare him, as it often does, much 
unknown pain. Marguerite had dreaded her 
father to the last; she feared the outbursts of 
anger to which he was habitually inclined, but 
to Samuel she dared, if not to speak, at least to 
write. 

In a letter quivering with embarrassment she 
avowed that for some time she had felt in the 
depths of her soul, that she was really a Catholic ; 
that she had studied in secret and affirmed the 
truth more and more, until she had resolved, as 
soon as she should become the mistress of her own 
actions, to obey that appealing voice. Now that 
her eighteenth birthday was soon to be celebrated 
and her education drawing to a close, she desired, 
as she had always said, to remain at Saint-Denis 
in the quality of a novice. 

His sister a fugitive ; his sister a papist ; Samuel 
thought he must be losing his reason. It was at 
this period he undertook the one trip of his life, 
the memorable journey to Paris during which 
he had seen absolutely nothing, for his mind had 
revolved about the one idea, how to save this poor 
little unfortunate, how to save her from her error. 
No doubt she was simply fascinated; he accused 
the indiscreet zeal of some priest, but his first con- 
versation with the superintendent sufficed to prove 
to him that neither chaplain nor teachers had had 
the slightest part in a work that had been accom- 
plished in secret. 

So be it. No one was responsible, but every- 


26 


Constance. 


thing had contributed to it, he thought, even 
breathing the air of the old Abbey — an atmosphere 
of superstition, the atmosphere of the Middle 
Ages. 

He could but wait ; was right to fear the in- 
fluences of the place, even the silent ones ; each of 
these black stones distills so much poison, he 
would say to himself. 

He employed every argument with his sister. 
He reminded her of their great-uncle, a celebrated 
Protestant pastor, condemned to the torture, 
estrapada, burned in the time of the dragonnades ; 
he asked her if she desired to make common cause 
with his butchers. Honor alone (if there re- 
mained no trace of the teachings of her child- 
hood), should prevent her passing over to the 
enemy. 

With gentle but invincible firmness. Marguerite 
responded that there could be no question of a 
resolution to be taken, but of an accomplished 
fact, adding that the war-cry of the ancestor of 
whom he had spoken, in fact, of all the Cevenols, 
had been liberty of conscience. She was not re- 
ceding from the principles of her race in claim- 
ing this liberty for herself. 

This was an appeal to the spirit of justice which 
no sentiment, however strong, could suppress in 
the breast of the pastor. 

He questioned, though, for a moment, if he 
should not resort to that authority bequeathed him 
by his father and carry the little rebel away; it 
was clear, however, that so radical a measure could 
avail nothing; her black eyes defied persecution 
with the energy that had inspired the old Cami- 


Constance. 27 

sards to defy the scaffold and the flames; their 
blood, too, flowed in her veins. 

She would not return to Nerac where her re- 
sistance could but create a scandal. It was no 
longer as a child that she stood before him, but 
a woman whose strong convictions would reproach 
him if he compelled her to follow his wishes. She 
did not deny that the ardent desire she possessed 
to remain always at the side of Marie added 
greatly to her natural inclination toward her 
change of faith. M. Duranton asked to see this 
persuasive person. 

^^Mademoiselle,^^ he said to her, bitterly, ^^you 
are accepting a ponderous responsibility in en- 
deavoring to replace for my sister, her religion, 
her country, her family, everything in fact. Are 
you sure you are capable of such a task? Are 
you sure of maintaining it 

Mile, de Vardes responded with assurance that 
she was not afraid of neglecting the duties of an 
affection founded upon a base in which there 
was little that pertained to earth — an affection 
which had received the benediction of God. As 
he looked her over from head to foot, M. Duran- 
ton recalled the proselyting spirit of the famous 
Madame de Maintenon. 

^^Weigh conscientiously a step that is to be irre- 
vocable,^^ he said to Marguerite at parting; ^^but 
no matter what comes, remember that I am always 
your brother/' 

Marguerite thanked him with a touch of 
hauteur, firm in the conviction that she should 
never need him, while poor Samuel, overcome 
with regret, was compelled to resign the role of the 


28 Constance. 

good shepherd who returned to his flock with the 
lamb that had strayed. 

He came home alone, with the air of an old 
man, discouraged and even determined to expel 
from his heart, her, who had, alas, already occu- 
pied too great a place there. Neither wife nor 
children, however, could blot from his mind the 
memory that far in the bleak northland, behind 
the bars of a Catholic convent, his dear little 
Margot was a voluntary captive, separated from 
him by an abyss greater than death could have 
created between two kindred souls. 

He thought her happy, at least, and she was 
so, indeed, for three or four years after her ab- 
juration. The life of the ladies at Saint-Denis, 
modified, modernized since, at that time continued, 
with the exception of certain vows, to resemble 
that of their predecessors at Saint-Cyr. 

They were of course religious, but first of all 
deliciously intellecutal. While they performed 
their duties scrupulously, Marie and Marguerite 
had an abundance of leisure, and their mutual 
affection profited therefrom. It was such an affec- 
tion as one rarely encounters, an affection with- 
out jealousy, without rivals, grand, ennobling — 
the most soulful, ardent sentiment. 

The rules of the convent were indexible, per- 
mitting the ladies few liberties beyond an occa- 
sional visit to relatives or friends. Marguerite 
was rarely prompted to avail herself of these, 
unless, as it sometimes chanced, Marie would in- 
sist upon her accompanying her to her aunt^s, 
the widow of General de Vardes, and to whom 
Marie paid a visit each month, though she assured 


Constance. 29 

Marguerite it was an obligation she performed 
with the greatest reluctance. 

The countess was a very worldly old woman, 
who inspired no one with the slightest degree of 
confidence; Marguerite, indeed, felt a deep an- 
tipathy for her and preferred, therefore, that 
Marie should perform what she chose to term 
her ^^drudgery^^ alone. 

Toward the close of the third year it became 
more or less apparent that the ^^drudgery^^ had 
ceased to be so burdensome; gradually it came 
about that Marie ceased to joke about the Mon- 
days at her aunfs, and while she made no change 
in the fundamental austerity of her toilet, there 
was (perceptible alone to the eyes of a woman) a 
slight leaning toward coquetry, in the minor de- 
tails; a mere suspicion that affected Marguerite 
strangely. 

Marie gradually became less communicative in 
regard to the manner in which she spent her 
leisure time in Paris, and as the inexplicable, the 
incomprehensible, creates uneasiness in the mind. 
Marguerite grew apprehensive, even frightened, in- 
stinctively warned by these trifies of an impending 
catastrophe. It was, indeed, without warning, 
with a brusqueness bespeaking at once a resolu- 
tion accompanied by remorse, smothered, dis- 
simulated, that Marie announced to Marguerite 
her approaching marriage. She had encountered 
in her aunPs home a very distinguished man, who 
had sought her hand in marriage. 

^^The Baron de Latour-Ambert Margot trem- 
ulously spoke the name of a friend of Madame 


30 Constance. 

de Vardes who had twice returned to Saint-Denis 
with Marie. 

the Ambassador.^^ 
he oldr 

; fifty-five, perhaps, but remarkably youth- 
ful in appearance : his address is very dis- 
tinguished.^^ 

His age made little difference to Marie; she 
was a girl to weigh the rank and power of his 
position, and she vastly preferred his attentions to 
the love of a younger man ; she preferred the dis- 
creet bearing of this elderly person, who would 
never make himself ridiculous by forgetting his 
age, and who would confine his sentiments to a 
partially paternal affection. There is nothing 
more flattering to a young woman than the atten- 
tions of a man apparently hlasL As for that re- 
sponsibility of which M. Duranton had warned 
her, the future Baroness was apparently oblivious. 
Marie had spoken of this anticipated change with 
a triumphant smile. It merely bespoke one more 
instance of subservience to her spirit of domina- 
tion; like great conquerors who, one victory won, 
seek new fields, Matie never stopped after a de- 
cision to count the consequences to others; the 
half-suppressed suffering of her friend apparently 
escaped her. 

^^Nothing need be changed between us, dearie,^^ 
Marie said as she embraced her. ^^You shall con- 
tinue to be my closest friend and Marguerite, 
choking down her tears, too proud to complain, 
repeated like a gentle echo : 

^^Ho, nothing shall be changed.^^ 

The following August, Marguerite accepted the 


/ 


Constance. 


31 


invitation from her brother, so faithfully renewed 
each year, to spend the vacation at Nerac. She 
had always repulsed it under one pretext or an- 
other, but now anything seemed preferable to 
that insufferable solitude, which had weighed so 
heavily upon her since the marriage of Mile, de 
Vardes. Her exclusive friendship had caused her 
to neglect anything more than mere acquaintance 
with those about her, and now, knowing her so 
little, it was small wonder they viewed her with 
indifference. It was now, indeed, that the truth 
fell upon her with a volume of light ; what she had 
regarded as a serious vocation was in reality noth- 
ing more nor less than the influence of an ill- 
advised example. Her duties now seemed tame 
and spiritless to her; she must indeed have loved 
only the presence of Marie in them before — that 
constant contact which her correspondence could 
not replace, although it formed the principal 
interest of her monotonous life. 

Marie was no longer near her. As Madame de 
Latour-Ambert she had accompanied her husband 
to a foreign land, and in the interval between her 
letters. Marguerite paled like a slender flower de- 
prived of the sun. The damp, humid air of 
Saint-Denis had never been favorable to her 
health, which had gradually altered without at- 
tracting her attention, because happiness lends us 
a certain moral and physical force that sorrow 
shamelessly betrays. 

Now she seemed to suffer from a thousand 
inexplicable miseries. A remembrance of the 
goodness and devotion of her brother came upon 
her in this crisis (as it had not come since their 


32 Constance. 

semi-rupture) with a vague longing in it; she 
wanted to renew the past, and try the virtue of 
her native air upon the unfortunate state of her 
nerves. 

It was still the same staunch Samuel of bygone 
days who feted the return of the prodigal, with 
radiant happiness at having her among them 
again ; but the other end of the table was now 
supplied with a Madame Duranton, who was a 
woman of the utmost religious intolerance. The 
anger she had felt at the bare recital of her sister- 
in-la w^s abjuration apparently redoubled in vio- 
lence when she beheld her more beautiful and 
attractive than she had ever been led to imagine 
her. 

Edelmone at once felt the most intense an- 
tipathy for Marguerite, an antipathy wherein re- 
ligion bore no part^ although she secretly 
persuaded herself that it all emanated from that 
source. Within a week, thanks to the executive 
ability and untiring energy of Madame Duranton, 
the reputation of the poor lady from St. Denis 
was established beyond recall; she was not only 
a pretentious pedant, but totally ignorant of do- 
mestic affairs^ and affected the manners of a 
queen. It was a rare piece of good fortune that 
she had chosen celibacy from inclination, for no 
reasonable man would ever have saddled himself 
with such an object of luxury. Madame Duran- 
ton was doubly surprised, therefore, when she dis- 
covered that Doctor Vidal had taken a different 
view of the matter. 

Doctor Vidal was one of the oldest friends of 
the Duranton family, and he had known Mar- 


Constance. 


33 


guerite as a child, in the early springtime of her 
beauty, but now he found her thinner and paler, 
with a touch of disenchantment upon her pretty 
lips, and her large, dark eyes full of melancholy. 
Vidal had a generous heart (hidden beneath the 
brusque manner that contact with the world had 
failed to polish) and that heart was overcome with 
tenderness. As a physician, also, he felt that 
he might labor to overcome that tenancy toward 
consumption that he had seen but too clearly from 
the^fifst. 

Little inclined habitually to venture beyond his 
study except of necessity, he nevertheless became 
a constant visitor at the parsonage during those 
summer months of Marguerite^s visit. 

She was an accomplished musician, and the in- 
clination Philippe Vidal suddenly developed for 
the art, was a source of genuine astonishment to 
those who had heard him repeat a hundred times 
that that sort of hubbub was intolerable to him; 
that, in fact, there was nothing except gossip that 
he held in such utter contempt as the piano. But 
he never tired of listening to Marguerite play- 
ing, nor yet to Marguerite talking, and then came 
the suspicion that he might have altered his views 
of women altogether. Apparently our opinions 
and our impressions are two very different things. 
The doctor found it entirely useless to formulate 
to himself his scientific aversion toward that sex 
of which Marguerite formed so charming an ex- 
ponent; he forgot all about them when he was 
with her. 

She could, indeed, have employed no more sub- 
tle flattery, involuntary though it was, than when 


34 


Constance. 


she fell ill and gave to him an opportunity to 
minister to her cure. That generous mind^ so 
prolific in its charities (gifts unappreciated, per- 
haps, by the recipients), retains for itself an in- 
disputable mantle of affection that enfolds it in a 
cloud of beatific sympathy. 

M. Vidal felt, indeed, the forcefulness of this 
after Marguerite’s serious illness, when he had 
succeeded in re-establishing her health. She had 
fallen ill the latter part of the vacation, about the 
time she had proposed returning to Saint-Denis. 

A serious fever had attacked her while she was 
visiting the Nougaredes at the Park, whither 
Madame Duranton had transported herself 
and family. The doctor exhibited upon this occa- 
sion a devotion so far in excess of professional 
duty, that no one doubted any longer the sort of 
interest he felt for his patient. 

When she had recovered sufficiently to appre- 
ciate all that he had done for her, she formulated 
her thanks very tenderly. 

^^You owe me no thanks, I acted selfishly, en- 
tirely for my own pleasure and profit. You will 
understand, later.” 

Of course the doctor’s secret desire was to ap- 
propriate the beautiful prey he had so valiantly 
contended for with death. During her convales- 
cence he held a serious conversation with his old 
friend the pastor. 

^^Your sister,” he said, out of danger for the 
present, but there is little hope that she will ever 
be anything but delicate; she will require serious 
as weil as untiring attention ; the fatigue of teach- 
ing should be expressly forbidden her; above all^ 


Constance. 


35 


that miserable regime of Saint-Denis which has 
had such a serious result. It is out of the ques- 
tion that she should return there.^^ 

The pastor shook his head sadly. 

^‘^Make her comprehend that if you can/^ he 
replied. ^^She knows that my fireside is hers also, 
but there exists little congeniality, as you have 
doubtless perceived, between Marguerite and my 
wife; then, too, the difference in religious mat- 
ters.'’’ 

am scarcely guilty of imagining she could 
reside with you; it would but add one more en- 
cumbrance, and that is undesirable; more than 
that, her feelings would be constantly trampled 
upon.” 

^^Where would you have her go, then?” 

^^To a husband,” responded Philippe Vidal reso- 
lutely, ^^and that husband — myself.” 

^^My dear friend, one objection, — ^you are too 
rich to marry a woman who has no dower.” 

^Toor reasoning, indeed. Because she has 
nothing is the best of reasons why she should be 
assured a comfortable home. My vaunted riches 
consist of nothing but a modest income left me 
by my father, and I have never sought to augment 
it. I am a scientist for the love of it, and one 
rarely attains to riches along that line. A rea- 
sonable wife, not too ambitious in a worldly sense, 
could, no doubt, be contented with my modest for- 
tune. But you know my circumstances — we have 
been friends so long. I offer your sister an hon- 
orable name, and all the affection of an honest 
heart. As for religion, — it matters little to me; 


36 


Constance. 


for myself, I have none, which it is useless to 
recall to your mind/^ 

^^Had she remained a Protestant, that would 
have been my second objection, and probably the 
strongest/^ 

congratulate myself then that she became a 
Catholic. She will be less absolute, less unfor- 
giving. But you must be clear upon one point: 
while I personally have no religion, I prefer that 
my wife should have one. In my estimation every 
free-thinking woman has one less attraction.^^ 

^^You are a praiseworthy esthetic,^^ laughed M. 
Duranton ; ^^let us hope that your devotion to your 
fellow-beings, a devotion you choose to designate 
by the Christian term of charity, will eventually 
conduct you to a higher, a much higher sense of 
God’s claims upon you.” 

^^Science is God, one and the same,” retorted 
Doctor Vidal, ^^but we have no time now to devote 
to that, and you preach, my dear Samuel, instead 
of replying to me. Do you think your sister 
would care to consider me?” 

Samuel Duranton remained silent. For him- 
self, he admired Philippe Vidal extravagantly; 
he was a man approaching forty, slight, but vigor- 
ous, whose accentuated features bore a striking 
resemblance to the statue of Henry the Fourth 
in the public square at Nerac. After the man- 
ner of students, he had grown a trifle bald at an 
early age, but his mannerisms bespoke a youthful 
energy and his glance retained its keen penetra- 
tion. Certainly this physician whose work and 
fame was so widespread, whose goodness and labor 
among the poor made him adored by people in- 


Constance. 


37 


capable of appreciating his intellig^^nce, — cer- 
tainly he represented a very acceptable parti, but 
Samuel had always imagined that a man who 
could appeal to Marguerite must be a paragon, 
a sort of knight errant who would offer to un- 
hook the moon and stars for her if she craved 
them. However, he transmitted the doctor’s 
message to her. She listened without surprise, as 
if she had already guessed and reflected upon it, 
and the sadness of her consent frightened M. 
Duranton. Marguerite married because other- 
wise her situation was hopeless. She shrank from 
returning to Saint-Denis where Marie no longer 
awaited her, and she saw the impossibility of re- 
maining with Edelmone. When M. Vidal came 
to ascertain the result of the conference, she 
placed her still burning hand with a feeble effort 
into his. Philippe was overcome with joyous 
emotion. 

^^You shall at least find my old Priory as habita- 
ble as Saint-Denis,” he said merrily. 

His home was, in fact, what remained of an 
old Benedictine priory, surrounded by knotted and 
tufted old hedges, standing side by side with a 
curious historical monument, the old convent 
church — one of those samples of Eoman archi- 
tecture still to be found in the south of France. 

The fifteen remaining years of Marguerite’s 
life were passed at the Priory, with the exception 
of a few absences in the Pyrenees necessitated by 
her delicate health. Vidal was so entirely 
wrapped in happiness as a result of his marriage 
that it was but natural he should conclude 
Marguerite to be happy also; he was friend. 


33 


Constance. 


father, and physician, all in one for her. On the 
other hand, Marguerite possessed all those quali- 
ties so desirable in the wife of a savant, with the 
exception, perhaps, of a certain household savoif 
faire — an unnoticed defect, as it transpired, for 
old Catinou, the bachelor-doctor’s housekeeper, 
continued to manage for him as she had done all 
those years. 

While Marguerite was sufficient unto herself to 
a certain extent, she was prompt to take an in- 
terest in the work and researches of her husband, 
with the amiable curiosity of semi-ignorance 
which the intelligent woman so well understands. 
Madame Vidal’s most constant care, however, was 
that little daughter whose advent into the world 
had satisfied her ardent desire for something to 
love. 

Her strength was gradually failing, and she 
felt that she must hasten to bestow upon the child 
all the tenderness she might, for her life in all 
reason could not last much longer, and she felt 
that she was soon to leave her little one mother- 
less. 

Her first care had been to request Madame de 
Latour-Ambert to become the god-mother of 
Marie Constance, that she might assure her an 
affectionate protection; then, without considering 
her own needs, she assumed the exclusive care of 
her baby. In her jealous tenderness she could 
not consent that a stranger should aid in the 
task of the child’s education, and she had per- 
sisted in this determination with a feverish ardor 
that frightened the doctor. 


Constance. 


39 


^TTou tire her. Marguerite/’ he would say; 
^deave the poor little human plant some liberty.” 

There existed an unconscious egotism in this 
maternal passion; she was endeavoring to mould 
another Marguerite who should understand her, 
whose heart should respond to her most intimate 
thoughts, and who should continue her religious 
ardor ; she inculcated her convictions with a fervor 
such as the Christians of the early ages must have 
felt in arming their children against adverse in- 
fluences. 

^^Tell me your pretty story,” Stany would say 
to her mother, in the manner of requesting a fairy 
tale, and Marguerite would relate the vivid im- 
pressions of her flrst years at Saint-Denis, the 
incidents of her friendship with Marie de Vardes, 
the miracle obtained through the prayers of this 
latter, and how she had felt the ^^truth” come upon 
her in the midst of the splendors of the May pro- 
cession, the description of which bewitched the 
child, already so exalted. The thought of her 
mother, so young, as having been the object of 
such grace developed in Stany the veneration of a 
devotee; this mother so dainty, delicate and 
ethereal, who spoke of Heaven as if she were 
ready to fly away to it, seemed the heroine of a 
legend which her imagination framed elaborately 
amidst cloister, tombs, and catacombs, peopled 
with phantoms. The result of these* endless re- 
citals was to enchain the child (far from baby- 
hood pastimes) at the foot of the bed retained so 
often now by the patient, serene Madame Vidal. 

^^Love God, suffer for Him, sacrifice everything 
to Him,” — these words which came voluntarily 


40 Constance. 

to the lips of the sufferer, were imprinted in 
Stany’s heart long before she could comprehend 
their entire signification, and when that mes- 
senger from on high, of whom her mother had 
always spoken so fearlessly, came to reclaim her, 
the resignation evinced by the orphan in her afflic- 
tion was a source of general comment. She who 
had gone to eternity, had said to her: 

We can never be separated if you remain true; 
God will permit my presence ever near you; we 
shall be together in prayer ; you have but to listen 
to my voice in your soul — I shall answer when 
you call.^^ 

Stany implicitly believed that her mother was 
ever present with her, while she was separated 
from ^ those who did not comprehend the secret 
of this mysterious union in God. 

After that period of tears and despair roused 
by the bitter grief of her father, a new era dawned 
for Stany, one of naystic consolation that blended 
a kind of beatitude with her regrets. 

It seemed to her that by divine favor, the soul 
of her loved one had been added to hers, that it 
dictated her conduct, and guided her simplest ac- 
tions; all the ideas of this invisible companion 
came to her as her own. Every one remarked the 
wonderful likeness in her glance, her smile, her 
voice, and all about the country side it was said, 
that the child was her mother^s breathing image. 
Even the doctor felt tempted to thank her for 
having the mannerisms even to the slightest ges- 
tures, of his dear wife, and M. Duranton scarce 
ever saw her without repeating as he had to-day, 
^^How you resemble my poor, dear sister!’^ 


Constance. 


41 


CHAPTEE IV. 

While her uncle returned to the lessons inter- 
rupted by the unlooked for events of the morning, 
Constance and Henriette went for a stroll about 
the Garenne, accompanied by Madame Duranton, 
who had promised Louison a promenade in recom- 
pense for that unmerited punishment of which 
he still pretended to bear the marks. 

La Garenne, the only avenue left of the royal 
park built by Antoine de Bourbon, is the 
pride of Nerac. Tradition has it that the trees 
which shade it date back to Henry the Fourth; 
true or otherwise, the oaks and elms bear evidence 
of a majestic antiquity. 

The avenue leads from the ancient gardens of 
the Chateau, that silent witness of the gallantries 
of the court of Navarre, and of those famous con- 
ferences, intermingled with fates and intrigues, 
wherein the beauties of the court of Catherine 
de Medici so scandalously distinguished them- 
selves. Fram the Chateau, of which but one wing 
is left standing, with its exterior gallery supported 
by twisted columns, it runs broad and straight 
to the ruins of the fortress of Nazareth, whose 
historic name savors of the Crusades; and from 
one end to the other, the sides of this superb 
promenade are studded with fountains of the six- 
teenth and seventeenth centuries, like huge pearls 
from a profane rosary. 


42 Constance. 

That Baise, whose waters are soiled now by huge 
flour mills, at that time received into its flowing 
tide those beautiful nymphs of the flying squadron ; 
a pretty hexagon pavilion, too, whose base is 
washed by the stream, has served in its day for 
more than one rendezvous; so, also, that cottage, 
which Gascon exaggeration has pompously termed 
a palace, where Henry the First visited his mis- 
tress, Marianne Alespee. It is in the basin of the 
fountain Saint Jean that legend (defying all 
history to the contrary) places the suicide of poor 
Fleurette, the little jardiniere in love with the 
King. Not far from here stand two magnifi- 
cent elms planted by Henry the Fourth and Queen 
Margot, in token of one of their numerous recon- 
ciliations. It is clear at a glance that the sub- 
jects of interest to be found in La Garenne are 
scarcely fit topics for young women to meditate 
upon. Perhaps Henriette was in a measure la- 
boring under their perfidious infiuence in broach- 
ing the subjects uppermost in her mind, love and 
matrimony. 

Madame Duranton was no longer present to 
interrupt nor correct, for being a poor pedestrian, 
she had seated herself under the pretext of watch- 
ing Louison with a few youngsters of his age, while 
Stany and Henriette, arm in arm, continued their 
promenade down the deserted walk; for it is rare- 
ly frequented except on Sundays and fete days 
by the good people of Kerac. Most of the year 
there reigns immeasurable silence beneath its 
lofty canop3\ 

La Garenne was as yet scarcely in its full re- 
splendent beauty ; the tender green of early spring 


Constance. 


43 


brightened the landscape here and there amidst 
the wintry browns, while the tree tops stretched 
dismal and bare; beneath the dead leaves below 
peeped little tufts of vegetation ; the birds chirped 
merrily about their nesting in the shrubbery, and 
an odor of fresh sap and flowering herbs fllled 
the silent, warm atmosphere, and the sunbeams 
sparkled upon the waters of the Baise. 

^^You doubtless remarked the cleverness with 
which I prompted this promenade,^^ said Hen- 
criette, ^^but did you guess the reason ? I thought 
that, ninety-nine chances to a hundred, a stranger, 
totally unoccupied, would come here to pass an 
hour or two. M. de Glenne — that sounds well, 
don^t you think? M. de Glenne. He must have 
a title, they always do in novels.^^ 

Stany raised her brows indifferently. 

^^Ah, Stany^ I wish I could show him to you !” 
cried Henriette, pressing the arm she held in hers. 
^^We shall be sure to meet him. What can he be 
doing with himself all this time? No one stays 
at the hotel when there is anything else to do. 
I wager we shall see him before long . . . what 

shall we bet?^^ she continued, with animation — 
^^That little lace fichu you tried on me the other 
day ?^^ 

^^It had just occurred to me to offer it to you,^^ 
said Constance. 

^^How good you are. It is always the same 
old story at home when the question of gowns 
comes up — ^no moneys ; I should so love a lot of 
pretty chiffons, a little superfluity, a bit of the 
luxury of life.^^ 

never think of it.^^ 


44 Constance. 

“I know; but you are like no one else. What 
a pity your mother made anything but a Protest- 
ant of you ; you might have married a clergyman, 
and been the edification of the entire parish.” 

“Little goose!” laughed Stany. She refieeted 
a moment, and became serious. 

“Certainly. If a woman belonged to a faith in 
which the priests were permitted to marry, she 
could wish tor no better fate.” 

“Ah, no, merci, that is not my opinion. One 
had better remain an old maid than be happy in 
the way mother is, although father is goodness 
itself. Think of her duties, mon Dieu; just to 
think of them — it is overwhelming !” 

“To have the same religion, to hope the same 
hopes, seems the foremost necessity in marriage,” 
said Constance quietly. 

“Pshaw ! if you are much in love 

“How could love endure without kindred con- 
victions, without that subtle congeniality that is 
its true foundation?” 

“You can agree upon most things without wor- 
rying over the next world; that is not the bur- 
den of every conversation,” said Henriette ir- 
reverently. “If my husband makes my life in this 
world a happy one, he can hold his own views as 
to the next.” 

“You seem so childish at times, Henriette.” 

“Childish!” she exclaimed petulantly. “I am 
older than you; besides I have an example to 
prove my assertion. Did not your father and 
mother live in perfect accord while she was a devo- 
tee and he believed in nothing at all?” 


Constance. 45 

mother was very sad at times, despite their 
affection/^ 

They continued for a few paces in silence, Hen- 
riette with her lips compressed that she might 
not repeat what Madame Duranton had frequently 
said in regard to the melancholy of her sister-in- 
law — namely, that her regrets sprang from being 
obliged to live in the country, so far removed from 
the brilliant associations she had enjoyed in Paris. 

^^Then, too,^^ continued Stany, ^^she left to me 
alone a treasure she valued above all else — the 
letters from my godmother. From the replies of 
Madame de Latour-Ambert mama must have con- 
fided to her that she was only partially happy. 
She needed her daughter that she might relish her 
own existence as she had in the time when that 
perfect union of heart and spirit existed between 
her and the friend to whom she might confide 
everything with the assurance of being understood. 
How beautiful it must be to enjoy such a friend- 
ship,^^ added Constance, while poor Henriette 
clouded visibly with the air of ^^am I not your 
friend 

have you, dear Henriette, but you must ad- 
mit we are very different — fire and water.^^ 

^^Yes, I am always afraid of scandalizing you,^^ 
laughed Henriette. ^^Let us hope the future will 
furnish us husbands to our different tastes.^^ 

have not thought much of it yet ; I am very 
happy with papa, and I think I am very useful to 
him; Catinou is getting old. Then, it is not 
merely a domestic question; I help him in more 
than one way. I am his secretary now ; he thinks 
I do not understand the reports he gives me 


46 Constance. 

to copy (Papa, you know, does not esteem wo- 
man’s intelligence very highly), especially in a 
scientific way, and part of what he dictates to 
me is entirely unintelligible for me; but I seize 
the spirit of it, and sometimes one word gives 
me the key to the entire discourse. I think that 
is what annoyed mama, and it is what separates 
us in a measure, although we love one another very 
deeply; I cry a little now and then, but he does 
not know it. That is as it should be— I can’t tell 
him everything as I could to mama. It was 
very beautiful then,” and she sighed regretfully. 
“I wish he would consent to let me go to Paris, 
just once.” 

“You want to go to Paris? So do I,” cried 
Henriette, “a trip to Paris — I covet it above all 
things. For the theatres, just to think what 
they must be like, when we have never seen a 
play !” 

“For me it would be to see my godmother.” 

“What curiosity! A godmother you do not 
know.” 

“It would seem as if I were finding something 
of mama’s. I could ask her so many questions 
about things she alone must know I — that would be 
too good I — Papa would never permit it.” 

“Your father never refuses you anything, and 
if your godmother invited you- ” 

“She has invited me, urged me, but papa always 
finds some excuse for putting it off. He had a 
deep-rooted antipathy for her; he says she in- 
jured my mother by her religious exaltation, and 
that she would try to embitter me. When I re- 
ceive a letter from Paris, he falls into a bad 


Constance. 


47 


humor, and says, ^Why doesn’t she keep her cat- 
claws to herself?’ That is the way he speaks of 
the poor woman. She has no children, and asks 
nothing better than to bestow upon me the affec- 
tion she would have given to them.” 

^Toor woman!” repeated Henriette, musingly; 
^^she is very rich, is she not?” 

^^Her husband has occupied some very impor- 
tant posts, but the fall of the Empire put an 
end to the importance of M. de Latour-Ambert. 
It seems it was a terrible blow to him; he never 
recovered from it. He is an old man now, and a 
paralytic stroke has left him very infirm. Her 
life must be very sad. Papa says she merits the 
punishment for her headlong ambition; he is 
more unkind toward her than I have ever known 
him to be toward any one.” 

^They don’t like her any better with us either,” 
said Henriette softly. 

^^Yes, I know,” said Constance dryly. 

The silence that followed was broken by the 
sound of a mill-wheel half hidden behind the 
poplars, where it beat and belabored the still wa- 
ters into a snowy foam. They had reached the 
end of the avenue, some two thousand yards, and 
stood near a dungeon that surmounted a small 
rocky incline; the old tower, in ruins beneath its 
mantle of ivy, proudly raised its arrogant and 
sombre silhouette in the midst of the prairie, while 
the freshness of its surroundings was intensified 
by the neighboring river. It stands with the de- 
bris of the old fortifications (now merely surround- 
ing a small village) as all that is left of the Cha- 
teau de Nazareth. 


48 Constance. 

To-day the ruins boasted an attentive admirer 
who, from his extreme interest, apparently knew 
the original plans of this fortress that had been 
a contemporary of Saint Louis; Henriette saw 
him from a distance, and uttered a little cry. 

1 have won my wager; there he is.” 

back,” proposed Constance tran- 
quilly; we have gone too far; auntie will have 
become impatient. Come.” 

She drew her cousin away, but five minutes 
later a footstep echoed behind them, and now be- 
side,^ and M. de Glenne passed by with a cere- 
monious bow. 

“What do you think of him?” asked Henriette, 
who had blushed as red as a poppy. 

“I did not look at him.” 

“You are trying to be obstinate; he looked at- 
tentively at you; he almost stopped.” 

“He was probably saying to himself that your 
face was not entirely unfamiliar to him.” 

“Ah,” said Henriette doubtfully; “you will ad- 
mit, however, that I am a good prophet ; doubt- 
less he is overwhelmed with a desire to turn back, 
but that is out of the question for a man of good 
breeding. Of course he will not come back— he 
IS already a good ways off. Do you know what I 
think, Stany ? I can imagine what a pleasure it 
would be in summer, when the moon is full, to 
wander beneath these trees with the light creeping 
through mysteriously, and lending such an atmos- 
phere of charm to Hazareth that you might fancy 
whole troops of old warriors marching out solemn- 
ly from the dungeon.” 


Constance. 49 

now, you are becoming sentimental; you 
would be horribly afraid, and so would 

^^No, I should not be afraid, for I should be 
leaning upon the arm of a Parisian who, by some 
miracle, had come to Nerac, and finding things so 
horribly dull, had fallen in love by way of diver- 
sion/^ 

^^Would you be satisfied with that?^^ 

^^Of course it would become more serious later 
on ; for the present I am content to limit my wishes 
to this tete-a-tete, with the nightingale chorus. 
Naturally it would be a little imprudent, but 
the crime would not be very serious, as it would 
terminate in a marriage. Can you fancy any- 
thing more delicious? My heart throbs to think 
of it; but, alas, I dare say, it can never come 
true.^^ 

^^Never; you may as well make up your mind 
to that now,^^ answered Stany, with provoking 
insensibility. 

^^Do you suppose we could catch up with M. de 
Glenne?^^ continued Henriette, half serious, half 
joking. 

^^It is hardly probable, at the rate his long legs 
carry him. Why do you walk so fast? You are 
not anxious, I hope, to have the appearance of 
running after him!^^ 

This moral raillery was all lost. On approach- 
ing the fountain Saint-Jean they beheld M. de 
Glenne lost in contemplation of that simple little 
edifice, which the chevaliers of a neighboring 
command had presented to La Garenne. 

^^Assuredly,^^ said Stany in a low tone, ^^your 


50 


Constance. 


father has already inculcated some of his fancies 
for the monuments of N'erac/' 

They were obliged to submit to the regards of 
the stranger in passing, and this time Mile. Vidal 
could not deny it was directed to her with a kind 
of attention one accords an exquisite work of art. 
This glance was persistent ; it seemed to Constance 
that it followed her after they had passed by. 

, ^^What impertinence V’ she thought, while Hen- 
f riette remarked: 

'TsnT it strange that a Parisian should be so 
timid r 
''Timid r 

"Yes ; nothing could have been simpler than to 
have come forward and spoken to us. He might 
have given me some little commission for my 
father — for instance, in regard to the Park,^^ re- 
plied Henriette, with an astonishing presence of 
mind. "1 should not have been in the least em- 
barrassed in his place.’^ 

"Perhaps, like myself, he is far-sighted enough 
to see that your mother is yonder waving her 
handkerchief to us.^^ 

Madame Duranton, tired of waiting, had started 
in pursuit of them, and had been addressing these 
useless signals to them for some time. When they 
perceived her, they hastened their steps even into a 
run. Constance ran with a singular grace, a fact 
which M. de Glenne was not long in remarking ; he 
had always admired beauty, even feminine, not- 
withstanding the scorn he had felt for women in 
general for the past dozen years. 

The following day he had occasion to return to 
M. Duranton^s to regulate a few minor details in 


Constance. 


51 


regard to his recent acquisition. M. Duranton 
noted that during the conversation M. de Glenne’s 
glance frequently wandered toward the door, as 
if he anticipated some one^s entrance; and some 
one did enter, for Henriette could not resist the 
temptation to show herself, beautified by the ad- 
dition of a cerise ribbon in her hair. 

^^My daughter,^^ said the pastor. 

had the pleasure of seeing Mademoiselle yes- 
terday in La Garenne, accompanied by her charm- 
ing sister, responded M. de Glenne with a bow. 

^^Her sister said M. Duranton. ^^You are 
mistaken, Monsieur; although I have five sons, I 
have but one daughter. You allude, doubtless, to 
my niece Constance.''^ 

^Terhaps Nerac can fiatter itself in having a 
beautiful Constance, as Toulouse its beautiful 
Paule,^^ said M. de Glenne, evincing at once a 
knowledge of the Midi not displeasing to M. 
Duranton. Henriette, prompt to understand and 
exaggerate, amplified this thought v/ith the touch 
of an artist. ^^There,^^ she said to herself, ^^he 
is in love with Stany — at first sight, too After 
all, Henriette was an excellent little thing, in- 
capable of jealousy or egotism; she immediately 
bestowed upon the head of her cousin all the 
dreams she had wasted an entire morning in con- 
juring up ; with her impulsive nature, she leaped 
from the role of heroine to that of confidant, 
and never a shadow of regret to battle with; in 
fact, she thought it quite amusing in default of 
anything better. 

Apparently, however, neither the one role nor 
the other was reserved for her, and none of her 


52 


Constance. 


prognostics took tangible form. Once established 
at the Hotel Tertres, M. de Glenne occupied him- 
self exclusively with hurrying up the workmen 
who were rendering the Park habitable. During 
the time necessary for these preliminary arrange- 
ments, very luxurious in the eyes of the villagers, 
he made one or two trips to Paris and responded 
politely to the favors rendered him by M. Duran- 
ton by a few brief calls. The pastor had not only 
pointed out to him the local treasures concealed 
in the library at ISTerac, but had put him upon 
the track of several precious documents for the 
continuation of his historical studies. 

M. de Glenne had met Dr. Vidal several times 
at the house of his brother-in-law, and apparently 
relished the conversation he had with this grey- 
haired philanthropist, who seemed younger than 
himself, since he relished life as much as ever. 
This statement had been provoked by Dr. Vidal 
declaring the days were far too short to admit of 
all the necessary things that were to be done. 

^^What on earth can there be of such impor- 
tance?^^ objected M. de Glenne. ^^What is there, 
after all, worth thinking about?’’ 

^^Ah, Monsieur, I see you have been bitten by 
the vicious skepticism of our times. How can you 
question the use or the importance of loving 
our country, assisting the unfortunate, improving 
our minds, or following up some great research ?” 

de Glenne may say with Pilate, ^What is 
truth?’ interrupted the pastor with a bitter smile, 
directed mutually at his brother-in-law and his 
guest. 

^^You should derive great satisfaction from 


Constance. 


53 


knowing what there is to he done/' replied M. de 
Glenne, ^^and I would willingly attend your school 
if it were not too late/^ 

^^It is never too late so long as we have breath/^ 
said Dr. Vidal energetically. 

^^You are a trifle antiquated, Doctor; you do not 
believe in mental illness/^ 

^^All cowardice. Such illness comes only to 
those who abandon themselves to it and receive 
it” 

^^And to those who have suffered/^ replied de 
Glenne dryly. 

^^My faith, we have all suffered,^^ said the doc- 
tor, and the great vertical line on his forehead 
deepened into an ominous frown, as indeed it al- 
ways did when anything evoked the memory of his 
wife. ^^There is no wound which will not heal in 
a strong, well body. The venom of egotism exists 
in all those who would pass for incurable; as for 
me, my greatest desire is for a little more time 
in which to labor. You are astonished. You 
wonder, perhaps, that such a semi-savage, who 
spends the entire year shut off to himself in the 
country, could complain of an overplus of attrac- 
tions or duties; but when, like myself, one has 
been imprudent enough, among other things, to 
saddle himself with a doctor^s diploma 

^^And,^^ interrupted the pastor, ^^still more im- 
prudent in notifying the people he attends that 
he receives no remuneration.^^ 

no longer belong to myself, continued Vi- 
dal^ ignoring the pastor^s remark; am inter- 
rupted as often as if I were a doctor by profes- 
sion. If I chose, I might even take the bread out 


54 


Constance. 


of the mouths of my confreres at Nerac. I was 
very foolish in subscribing to that existing preju- 
dice in the Midi, that every man must either be- 
come a doctor or a lawyer, if he is not a donkey.’^ 
foolishness that you regret asked the pas- 
tor. ^^Come now, on your conscience.^^ 

^^If you put it that way — no; I do not re- 
gret iV^ said Vidal peevishly; ^^but simply be- 
cause I am a poor scholar. Otherwise I might have 
fulfilled my destiny more creditably than by allay- 
ing fevers and setting limbs, and have left behind 
me some trace of my labors, which I take it is our 
duty. A snap of my finger for suffering humanity, 
had I been capable of doing anything better 
^^We congratulate ourselves very heartily, then, 
that you are only a mediocre savant,’^ laughed M. 
Duranton, with malicious gaiety. 

^^Ah, I know you wish me bad luck, fanatic that 
you are,^^ replied the doctor in the same bantering 
tone. 

They had squabbled this way all their lives, 
with no tinge of bitterness, and when M. de Glenne 
left them he thought to himself, ^Tf there are any 
good people to be found in the world, it must be 
these two.^^ The opinion M. Vidal formulated in 
regard to the visitor, in speaking with his daugh- 
ter, was less favorable. 

^^The pessimism so in vogue has developed near 
at hand ; be on your guard. Fortunately it is 
mere affectation the greater part of the time.^^ 
^Terhaps he is really unhappy,’^ said Con- 
stance, with that touch of sympathy never lacking 
for the misfortune of others. 

^Terhaps — like a spoilt child. If the shattering 


Constance. 


55 


of certain illusions was alone necessary that we 
should conclude the entire world wrong, one would 
encounter nothing but cynics/^ 

^^How do you know it is entirely a matter of il- 
lusions?^^ ventured Constance timidly. 

^^And you, my dear, how do you suppose any one 
can be miserable continually when they are young, 
healthy, free, with plenty of intelligence, and an 
overabundance of money? Malheureux! I can 
hear your poor mother telling me Madame de La- 
tour-Ambert was miserable because she had not 
found what she sought in her lofty position. The 
devil! We must make our choice and abide by 
it.^^ 

^^But, papa, whether one has all that or not — if 
they have no one to love them 

^^They must look to themselves for that; one 
is always loved when they merit it. You are,^" said 
the doctor, drawing his daughter into his lap, 
^^and so am I. If we should only be loved by one 
another, I would consider it sufficient. This gen- 
tleman must have a mother or a sister, and it cer- 
tainly lies with him to marry if he wishes. At 
all events, we are to be neighbors, and shall dis- 
cover eventually what there is to him.^^ 

^^You have invited him to see you, papa?^^ 
^Tarbleu ! He goes to your IJncle Durantoffis, 
the friends of our friends, my dear: besides, we 
shall be near neighbors.^^ 

This neighborly visit, as it chanced, however, 
was singularly retarded. M. de Glenne had been 
installed at the Park for more than a month, and 
as yet had had no thought of it. Scarcely once dur- 
ing his daily rides had he turned his horse's head 


56 


Constance. 


toward the village, and yet it was not unworthy of 
some attention. An ancient walled town, reduced 
to a minimum number of inhabitants, and where 
nature anticipating the mourning garb of the 
pines, lavishly bedecked everything with bloom; 
dilapidated walls, plumed with self-sown vines, 
serv^ as a terrace for the .little gardens so close- 
ly huddled together, wherein the rose and the 
honeysuckle mingled in wild confusion beneath 
the sombre foliage of the fir trees ; while here and 
there the thorny spathe of a cactus, rearing its 
head from some old pottery, reflected the red 
rays of the sun like a great solitary coral. 

^ The houses of mud plaster and protruding beams 
hid their poverty beneath trailing clematis or 
climbing jasmine, while amidst this timid beauty 
loomed the great churchy strangely out of propor- 
tion with its surroundings. M. de Glenne had 
seen all this from his saddle, neither stopping at 
the Priourat nor at the parsonage. M. Duran- 
ton was strangely shocked at such indifference to 
conventionality, and commented: ^^Still another 
heretic like Vidal, come to replace those pagan 
Nougaredes; certainly the Park has little luck to 
bless it.^^ The doctor limited himself to think- 
ing, ^^Zounds ! here is a person who affects the 
tastes of a hermit.^^ But the one who felt the most 
outraged at this slight show of respectability was 
old Catinou, the greatest gossip the village boasted. 
She scented secrets from afar. For once, however, 
her smooth tongue and boasted penetration found 
themselves in error; the Park servants had little 
to confide, M. de Glenne having hired them in 
Nerac, with the exception of the hostler, who had 


Constance. 57 

brought down some horses from Paris, and he spoke 
only English. 

It came to be well known the new proprietor pre- 
ferred his solitary rambles over his own estate, 
beneath the gnarled and twisted oaks, and amidst 
those pines deluged with tears of resin. 

Alone he visited those solitary old dungeons 
standing resolutely side by side, and the tower 
d^Avance, or the mill of Barbaste, solicitously 
avoiding the few inhabited chateaux. 

Occasionally, with his gun over his shoulder, 
he would tramp to some solitary lake, or hide 
amidst the brush of the hill top and amuse him- 
self by shooting at what wild game chanced with- 
in his reach. That was about all Constance could 
learn of him. That the Park should be inhabited 
by some one who would not permit himself to be 
seen, aroused a little curiosity within her in spite 
of herself. Some sorrow, some mystery? Nothing 
is more essential to set in motion an imagination 
of eighteen years, even unaided by the conjectures 
and commentaries of a cousin Henriette. 

^^Monsieur de Glenne has made no more calls 
upon us,^^ commented the latter, ^^nor has he so 
much as invited papa to come and see him. It 
is simply outrageous This invisible Parisian 
had come to be, within a certain restricted circle, 
the center of public attention. 

It chanced one night about the middle of June, 
that Escaloup, one of the Park servants, pre- 
sented himself in a hopelessly breathless condi- 
tion, to beseech Dr. Vidal to come in the great- 
est haste to attend a lady who was dying. 

^^A lady V’ cried Constance, who was seated be- 


58 


Constance. 


Bide her father on the vine-covered porch of the 
Prionrat, breathing the fresh night air. 

^^Yes, a lady, who arrived only to-day 

^^Who is ill, you say? You must go to Nerac 
for Dr. Lafourcade ; you know, and so does M. de 
Glenne, that I am not the rich man’s doctor. 

de Glenne did not send me; my wife told 
me to run for the doctor,” said Escaloup in evident 
embarrassment. came here — it is the nearest.” 

^^Is the case so serious? What is the matter 
with her?” questioned the doctor. 

The messenger, not without some hesitation, 
be it said in his favor, now divulged what he had 
probably been cautioned not to mention, that the 
^^poor lady” was very ill; in fact, she had been 
stabbed in the chest. 

will go at once,” and calling Bereto (Bere- 
to was the name of the doctor’s factotum, so called 
because he continually wore a blue cap that seemed 
to have grown to his skull) he cautioned him to 
hurry and harness the horse quickly. 

^^Stabbed in the chest,” he repeated mechanic- 
ally, ^^and he did not send for the doctor. The 
devil ! — I trust there is no question of murder or 
suicide. — A bad affair at all events. Is it a young 
lady ?” he asked during the drive, for he had made 
Escaloup get in beside him. 

young woman, a beautiful lady, whose hair 
might have been dipped in gold, such hair as one 
never sees except in Paris.” 

^^Diablel” muttered the doctor, hurrying the 
old mare into a more rapid gait. 


Constance. 


59 


CHAPTER V. 

There was but one furnished bedroom at the 
Park. A vast place of the most simple not to say 
severe aspect^ decorated with a variety of sports- 
man^s trophies and permeated with the odor of 
cigarettes ; here and there a lounging chair to ca- 
ter to the masculine lover of ease. In this bachelor 
apartment, dimly lighted by a single lamp, lay a 
woman; to be more exact, she was writhing in a 
paroxysm of hysterics, awkwardly attended by 
J anonette, who, never having seen anything of the 
kind, stood timidly throwing a little cold water 
in her face to restore her to consciousness, all the 
while mumbling exclamations of despair or dis- 
jointed prayers. 

Some one had had the presence of mind to loosen 
her apparel, visibly the hand of a man, for the 
delicate toilet had been roughly torn, while from 
the slender throat a crimson stream trickled down 
into a mass of batiste and lace. 

^^Ah, Monsieur le Doctor, here you are at last,^^ 
cried Janonette. ^^What an hour I have put in! 
First she cries as if her heart must break; then 
she grits her teeth — ah I I don^t know what to do 
with her.^^ 

^^Are you nursing her alone asked the doctor, 
quietly assuring himself of the gravity of the sit- 
uation without a moment^s loss of time. 


60 


Constance. 


Janonette replied in the affirmative, shaking 
her head in despair. 

^^Very well; remove that pillow from beneath 
her head, that she may lay perfectly flat — ^that is 
it. Escalonp, hold the lamp that I may see bet- 
ter — ^merely a scratch, nothing more. Come, my 
dear madame, calm yourself, — ^you are very ner- 
vous. As for the rest^ in a moment it will have 
disappeared entirely. Eub her arms and limbs 
briskly, J anonette, while I attach the bandage more 
firmly than yon have it. I presume there is noth- 
ing to be had here, but fortunately I have my 
pocket pharmacy with me. Hand me the linen, 
a bit of lint and the court-plaster — ah, ah, she is 
regaining consciousness.^^ 

The young person had mechanically lifted her 
hand to her throat, while her eyelids palpitated 
violently, her firmly closed mouth relaxed its ten- 
sion and she breathed a profound sigh. 

^^There, now, you feel better, eh?’^ questioned 
the doctor, in an affectionate, comforting tone. 
^^Your head hurts you, of course,’^ he responded to 
a convulsive gesture. ^Tt will be all right shortly. 
Tear 3 now? Cry all you want, my dear; you will 
get well all the sooner.^^ 

ejaculated Janonette, wiping her eyes with 
the corner of her apron, ^^she has too great a bur- 
den ; poor dear V’ 

^^There is no sorrow in those tears,’’ said the 
doctor; ^^purely nervous, — it will relax her. Has 
she been in this condition long?” 

^^More than an hour. We ran to the library 
when Monsieur called. She was lying upon the 
floor with that knife beside her,” whispered Jan- 


Constance. 


61 


onette, pointing to a sharp three-sided dagger. 
^^It is the knife Monsieur uses to cut the leaves of 
his books. — Ah^ there she is getting bad again. 
It has not stopped since we brought her up here. 
She wakes groaning like a dog (with your pardon, 
sir) braying at the moon. She tears her hair 
violently, and then falls back stiff as iron, to be- 
gin it all over again a few minutes afterwards. 
Mind me, she can only come out of this dead or 
crazy, poor thing 

^^Neither the one nor the other, be assured in 
that respect ; the hand that struck that blow was a 
very irresolute one. Was it the end of a scene — a 
discussion questioned the doctor in an undertone, 
continuing to bathe lightly a wound upon the 
chest in which the skin was merely broken. 

^^It happened this way,^^ responded Janonette 
in the same tone. ^^She arrived in one of the La- 
joux cabs (you know Lajoux, the liveryman at 
Nerac) while Monsieur was out walking. I was 
here all alone with Escaloup. She said she wanted 
to speak with Monsieur, and she would wait in the 
library for him ; that we need not mention her to 
him when he came in. She asked us a great many 
questions and had us show her over the house — 
very pleasant she was, too, and plenty of money to 
spare. We of course told her that after dinner 
Monsieur was in the habit of going into the li- 
brary. It occurred to me that she was arranging 
a little surprise for Monsieur; then, too, she was 
so nice I thought Monsieur would be pleased — 
besides she knew how to get what she wanted, so 
agreeable and generous ; for a miserable little bouil- 
lon I served her she gave me a gold piece. Just 


62 


Constance. 


to look at her you would be sure she was a lady, 
and did not come for any disagreeable purpose. 
We were wrong, it seems, for Monsieur has dis- 
charged us; but how could we tell — she was so 
well mannered ? We took her to the library, where 
she wanted to await Monsieur. He came in very 
late. The Englishman was with him and took 
the horses to the stable, and Monsieur ordered 
his dinner served immediately. I was astonished 
that the lady did not come to the table; she 
seemed tired, though, and for that matter it was 
her business and none of ours. She came from 
Paris, where Monsieur has secrets probably with 
which she is more familiar than we are. When 
Monsieur had finished his dinner he went into the 
library; the lamp was lighted as usual, although 
it was not quite dark. I approached the door a 
little, just to see if he was pleased. I understood 
at once that he was not. 

^You here, you V’ he exclaimed, as if he were 
uttering an oath. You never heard his voice so 
bitter, so angry, and the one of this poor lady so 
soft. She begged him — ^yes. I did not understand 
her words — there is a heavy portiere at the door; 
then, with her sharp Parisian accent, it is a little 
difficult. Afterwards it seemed as if she grew 
angry, too; they both talked at once, and I be- 
lieve he threatened her. Then suddenly I heard 
a cry, and Monsieur opened the door so quickly I 
scarcely had time to get away. He called : ^Hurry ! 
a doctor!^ I was close enough to hear distinctly 
and ran for Escaloup, telling him to fetch the 
nearest physician; then I hurried to the library, 
where Madame was still lying, stretched out, and 
Monsieur on his knees beside her; he had torn 


Constance. 


63 


open her dress, bursting off the buttons without 
compunction and saying, Comedienne! a deviFs 
comedienne 1^ I can vouch for that ; I heard him 
distinctly ; he probably thought she had not really 
killed herself, and was sorry for it. He despises 
her, I am certain ; it is readily seen, to be sure, if 
only from the manner in which he said, ^Madame 
has hurt herself. Attend to her until the doctor 
comes.^ He would not even assist in carrying her 
to the bed; he called the Englishman to do it. 
He seemed to feel a repugnance in touching her, 
but there is certainly nothing repulsive about her ; 
her skin is like satin and her lingerie sheer and as 
sweet as a bouquet. It is surely the outcome of 
some love affair, in which the blame lies with Mon- 
sieur ; men are very deceptive about such things.^^ 

This long recital of Janonette’s was ventured 
disconnectedly, in confidential bursts of feeling, 
while she stood handing the pins to the doctor for 
the bandage, and in assisting to undress the 
stranger, who lay perfectly calm now, with her 
eyes closed; she was pale and inert, as if her ap- 
parent insensibility was more voluntary than 
otherwise, while she was perhaps listening to this 
elaborate dissertation of which she was the hero- 
ine. Then she moved her head, shuddered a lit- 
tle, and opened her eyes, saying in a vague whis- 
per : 

^mere am IT 

^Tn the hands of a doctor who will soon restore 
you completely if you are good,^^ replied Dr. 
Vidal cordially. 

She looked about her, half frightened, passed 
her fingers across her forehead and said: 


Constance. 



^^Take me away ; take me away at once. I will 
not stay here: not an hour — ^no, not even a mo- 
ment.^^ 

In listening to her voice the doctor felt that the 
sharp Parisian accent of which J anonette had com- 
plained, almost imperceptible though it was, was 
the accent of a foreign tongue. 

^^What you ask, Madame, is impossible ; I shall 
call again to-morrow, and then we will discuss what 
I can do to be agreeable. For the present you 
must drink plenty of orange flower water and try 
to sleep; you are completely worn out.^^ 

wanted to kill myself,’^ she said gloomily. 

^^Did you really wish it? You were wrong in so 
doing, at any rate; and you did not succeed; I 
trust your efforts will help you to banish all such 
lugubrious fancies. Janonette will stay with you 
to-night, will you not, my girl? — and when day- 
light comes you will feel easier; the sun is a fine 
tonic, you know.” 

had sworn never to see him again,” replied 
the young woman, bursting into tears. hate 
him ! I hate the whole world, and everybody who 
has made me so miserable! I am so unhappy,” 
and a pause followed, in which her sobs eclioed 
ominously. 

^Terhaps you will not feel so bad to-morrow. 
Circumstances change sometimes — and people^s 
hearts are touched with pity.” 

She shook her head slowly. 

^^It is all at an end for me ! I ought to die !” 

^Tut, tut, my dear; no more of this, now; try 
to sleep,” said the doctor. 

She made an effort to draw her golden hair 


Constance. 


65 


about her face, but apparently the pain of her 
wound, although so slight, caused her to renounce 
her intention, and with a feeble sigh she hid her 
face in her arm and closed her eyes. 

^^You must not leave her an instant, Janonette,^^ 
cautioned the doctor, in a low tone. 

^^Be sure of that, Monsieur; I shall stay here 
until morning and count my beads.^^ 

will return after breakfast. See that she 
takes these soothing draughts every hour if her 
agitation returns again.^^ 

^^So,^^ thought the doctor, as he left the room, 
^^this fine gentleman for the love of whom a woman 
attempts suicide, seems to be invisible. The shame 
and remorse of it, likely; that little woman, moi 
foi, has the most beautiful shoulders I ever saw — 
like a marble sculpture, so white. He must be 
difficult to please. But the heart of a man is as 
fiint the day he ceases to love, for there can be 
little doubt that this is the termination of a ro- 
mance.^^ 

Then, as he was crossing the vestibule, he sud- 
denly beheld M. de Glenne leaning against a door 
casing, awaiting his exit in all probability. 

am obliged to offer you an apology,^^ he said, 
advancing toward M. Vidal with an embarrass- 
ment scarcely dissembled. 

^^An apology, my dear sir, for what ? I am glad 
to have been able to render a service to a person 
of interest to you (the doctor emphasized this 
maliciously) and more happy still to assure you 
that this little accident will have no unfortunate 
result.^^ 

A flush of irritation overspread the countenance 


66 


Constance. 


of M. de Glenne, and he shrugged his shoulders 
with well implied indifference. 

^^That stupid Escaloup interpreted my orders 
very poorly. I did not intend that he should dis- 
commode you, and more, I assure you, I had 
much rather have seen any face here than yours."^^ 
^^You flatter me.^^ 

^^You doubtless understand me. With a 
stranger whom I might have avoided meeting af- 
terwards, my position would have been less trying 
— less ridiculous.^^ 

^Tardon me. Monsieur, I see nothing in the least 
ridiculous about what has happened.’^ 

^^You will not deny, however, and it is very 
natural, that you have ideas, suspicions, which 
will argue poorly for our future relationship; 
for my part, I should be very sorry. No matter, 
however, what the result may be, permit me to 
say one word in my own defense ; upon my honor, 
I have done nothing that could have justified such 
an act of folly as that committed under my roof 
to-night; furthermore, upon my honor, I have 
done nothing with which to reproach myself in 
regard to my conduct toward the person you were 
called upon to succor. If one of us has committed 
any wrong toward the other, it lies at her door. 
Extremely grave faults exist; irreparable ones. 
This explanation should convince you in what es- 
teem I hold the friendship of a man like yourself, 
and how loath I am to sacrifice it before I have 
had an opportunity to claim it.'^^ 

M. de Glenne spoke with an emotion so little 
concealed as to prejudice the doctor as strongly in 
his favor as the most ample proof could have done. 


Constance. 


67 


A few moments before, his ideas had been those of 
Janonette^s; now, scarcely knowing why, he 
changed sides. 

^^Monsieur/^ he said, extending his hand to the 
man who had so bravely faced the most delicate of 
questions, have seen a great many strange things 
in my life, and have made an effort never to accept 
appearances too lightly. It is extremely agreea- 
ble to me to believe you a thoroughly honorable 
man, and I shall place every confidence in your 
word.^^ 

They pressed each other’s hands quietly, and 
nothing more was said of the affair between them, 
but the sentiments of M. Vidal, as he returned 
home were of an entirely different cast from those 
he had had in coming to the Park; with singular 
versatility, he now took the view in exact opposi- 
tion to his first opinion. ^^There are in reality,” he 
thought to himself, ^^some women who are ex- 
tremely perverse and malicious. If a man falls 
into their hands, he is to be pitied. However, one 
should be positive.” During the entire return trip 
he exhausted his brain with idle conjectures. This 
little foreigner was certainly an abandoned mis- 
tress; probably the discord had been caused by 
some treason on her part; now she repented it, 
perhaps she still loved him, or on the other hand, 
and that seemed the more probable, she was 
perhaps defending the interests of a child 
he had denied when he repulsed her. No 
doubt she had come to plead the cause of 
the little thing along with her own, and 
despairing of altering the coldness of the man 
she had offended, she had attempted heroic meas- 


68 Constance. 

•ures, feigned or real — feigned more likely — per- 
haps a mixture of the two. Women are so compli- 
cated. Some can really be sincere in comedy. Of 
all the suppositions he formulated in his thoughts, 
there was not one he could repeat to Constance, and 
he was annoyed upon reaching home and retiring 
to his room, to see the door open very slightly and 
a voice very much awake, say: 

''Well, papa— and the poor lady at the Park?’" 

The question caught him off his guard. 

"How now V’ he exclaimed, to gain time. "You 
are not in bed yet ? How absurd ! As for the 
lady, nothing simpler — a relative of M. de Glenne 
- — a very old person — came to visit him, and she 
was taken with a violent fever.^^ ^ 

The expression of astonishment, incredulity, and 
the big eyes of Stany, who, partially disrobed, 
merely passed her head through the opening of 
the door, convinced the doctor that he must have 
said something with very little semblance to reali- 
ty. Catinou, always so prompt and informing her- 
self, had cross-questioned the messenger from the 
Park very closely, while Bereto was harnessing the 
doctor’s horse. The adventure had been told her 
from beginning to end, with all the details related 
to the doctor by Janonette, and she did not t,arry 
in retelling it to her young mistress. It was 
the wish and curiosity to learn more that had kept 
Stany awake until her father should return. '^Why 
should papa tell me a story about it ?” she thought, 
more and more interested after the doctor’s con- 
fused explanation. She concluded that something 
very mysterious, very terrible, had taken place ai 
the Park. 


Constance. 69 

The days following she refrained from question- 
ing her father^ and he maintained utter silence in 
regard to the matter. Even Catinou could learn 
nothing more. M. de Glenne had taken him- 
self away and left the intruder alone. She was 
improving rapidly. The doctor paid his visits reg- 
ularly every morning, and the time for her de- 
parture approached. She was now almost com- 
pletely restored. 

One moring the victoria from the Park passed 
along the main road through the village: a lady 
gracefully reclined amidst its sumptuous cushions, 
and at her feet lay an elegant traveling bag. 

^^Ah, Mademoiselle/^ cried the ever-watchful 
Catinou, ^^come quickly.^^ 

But Stany, for all her haste merely caught 
sight of a profile half-shadowed beneath a gauze 
veil ; she saw more distinctly a knot of golden hair 
which glittered in the sunlight, and a charming 
figure partially concealed in an Anglo-Parisian 
jacket, just a trifle masculine in its cut. 

^^What a princess,^^ said the old woman ironi- 
cally ; ^^you see for yourself that bold woman is as 
well as you or I; your papa was very habile to 
cure her so quickly, or else she had merely 
scratched herself.^^ 

"'She seemed very pretty though,'^ said Con- 
stance. 

An hour later, during dejeuner, prompted by 
a certain feline curiosity, she ventured to inquire 
of the doctor if his patient was improving. 

"She is entirely recovered now, and on her 
journey to Paris,'" he responded briefly. "It is a 


70 


Constance. 


great relief in a certain quarter, but professional 
•secrecy debars me from explaining more to you/^ 

This extreme reserve prescribed by convention- 
ality, which M. Vidal pleaded as an excuse to 
Constance, was not so strictly observed toward 
others. He was naturally communicative, and 
the weight of this extraordinary adventure, in 
which he had played so prominent a part, would 
no doubt have proven very burdensome had he 
not considered that for divers reasons he should 
communicate it to M. Duranton, who, he felt, 
should understand the position of the purchaser 
of his estate. Poor Samuel was scandalized upon 
learning that such events were transpiring in the 
house he had so long considered as his own. 

can never put my foot across the sill, and I 
am overcome with remorse to have been the means 
of bringing such an unfortunate example unto 
the village,^^ he cried. 

^^But I just told you, the real culprit has de- 
parted.^^ 

^Tt is not simply a question of the woman, but 
of him who has reduced her to such extremities; 
he must first have lured her into wrong, and then 
deserted her.^^ 

^^Listen, my friend; if one of the two were 
lured to wrong, it was certainly not she ; you can 
believe me in that. I had every opportunity to 
study her. To begin with, she is not so young 
as she appears to be; she must be in the thirties. 
Thanks to the artifices employed by coquettes, 
she can gain five or six years, but the skin is al- 
ready faded beneath the powder, and there are 
little wrinkles at the corners of the mouth and 


Constance. 


71 


eyes that a doctor does not mistake. This face 
is only partially good; when she speaks or thinks 
herself observed, her look and smile are charm- 
ing; in fact, I imagine she could be bewitching 
when she gave herself the trouble; but off her 
guard her eyes look cold, and there is nothing 
about her mouth to indicate frankness. I wager 
she is of no account.^^ 

^^Nor do you know that he has always been,^’ 
replied M. Duranton, ^^and, perhaps, he made 
her what she is.^^ 

know very little, of course, but the day after 
that pretext at suicide 

^Tretext 

^^Certainly, I can affirm that. She merely 
wished to frighten him, to play a last card ; other- 
wise, the wound would not have been so insignifi- 
cant. When I paid my second visit, she spoke 
to me in a voice extremely touching and feeble. 
^Thank you. Monsieur,^ she said, ‘^for your kind 
attention to me. I am ashamed of myself; it is 
unpardonable to fail in such matters.^ Of course, 
I said everything that I thought could be inspired 
by compassion or even gallantry. I told her she 
was very foolish to wish to die when she possessed 
everything to make life so precious; the greatest 
treasure in the world for a woman was certainly 
beauty.^^ 

*'Mon Dieu/' interrupted the pastor, re- 

peat your madrigals to me. You had done better 
to have sent for a priest.^’ 

^^That was none of my business. I was trying 
to gain a few confidences; you know one never 
catches flies with vinegar. I was very insinuat- 


72 Constance. 

ing— SO much lost effort. She was far more 
habile than I, and understood how to talk very 
prettily without saying anything. Her conversa- 
tion is agreeable, nor is she lacking in wit; it is 
not difficult to see she is in the habit of receiving 
every man^s devotion and she can tolerate the 
indifference of none. After all, it was probably 
a part of her calculations that I should gain a 
favorable impression of her that I might the 
better acquit myself of the commission with which 
she intended to charge me for M. de Glenne. ^It 
is not my wish,^ she said, ^to usurp any longer 
the home of a man who seemingly cannot look 
upon me without repulsion. I had intended to 
write him, but all the letters seemed insignificant 
and unimpressive. It will suffice if you will tell 
him I repent of having made this last effort; he 
shall never hear of me again.^ As she gave me 
these instructions with her handkerchief to her 
eyes, I asked her if I could not recall to M. de 
Glenne some material obligation, which he had 
until now neglected, toward her or toward some 
being who was dear to her. She hesitated a mo- 
ment in understanding me, then smiling again 
with a little irony, she replied: ^Do you refer to 
money ? Tinder that head M. de Glenne has done 
all he should; as for a child, such a disastrous 
complication is fortunately lacking, thank God.^ 
^Ah, well,^ I thought, ffhe affair is not so very grave 
after all — an intrigue, like so many hundred of 
others, only this woman is more imperious and 
resolute than the majority, and has followed her 
lover into the solitude whence he had fled to avoid 
her.^ There can be nothing more exasperating 


Constance. 


73 


than a fury of this sort. I remember very dis- 
tinctly when I was a student in Paris, of the 
menaces I received at the hands of a certain 
grisette who was not dissimilar to this woman 
in appearance, the samo retrousse nose and feline 
eyes. Fanny — her name was Fanny — was always 
ready to bury the scisoors in my throat upon the 
slightest provocation; I couldn't stand it longer 
than two months." 

^^Tut, tut, Philippe, what stuff are you repeat- 
ing to me?" interrupted M. Duranton. ^^One 
harvests what they have sown, which is perfectly 
just. As for me, notwithstanding the pleasure I 
have felt in conversing with this man, nothwith- 
standing our mutual tastes, I shall arrange mat- 
ters so that he will never come here again." 

shall not be so severe. I see no reason to 
break with the poor devil for such a trifle." 

^^You call the suicide of a woman a trifle?" 

^^Yes, when it is merely a mock affair, and when 
the lady is one of the kind who And consolation." 

^^Not so loud, Philippe; I thought I heard 
some one in the next room. I trust we have not 
been overheard." 

Henriette, without wishing to hear, of course, 
had the rare faculty of always being within ear- 
shot of what was not intended for her to hear. 
She had heard of this interview a great deal which 
would doubtless interest Stany, to whom she 
faithfully carried every phrase of her father's 
and uncle's, touching upon the event which had 
transpired at the Park. 

believe," she added, after retailing it all at 
great length, ^^that I do not envy the Parisiennes, 


74 Constance. 

after all — catering to the mere fancy of such men 
as M. de Glenne/^ 

In the life of a girl reared in the solitude and 
monotony of the country the most trivial events 
grow into affairs of magnitude. Although Stany, 
unlike Henriette, was not so readily impressed by 
mere distinction of appearance and a well-fitting 
coat, when a drama such as this was enacted al- 
most at her own doorstep, it was natural that her 
youthful inexperience should be more or less im- 
pressed. She thought with a persistency, aston- 
ishing even to herself, of this man who was so 
merciless as to be touched neither by the prayers 
nor the threats of a woman he had loved, and, 
unable to expel her from his home, had, with the 
most cruel disdain, taken himself off and per- 
mitted her to remain alone. What could she 
have done to irritate him to such an extreme? 
And where was he?^^ Catinou informed her one 
morning, among the details of the village gossip, 
that the master of the Park had returned. She 
was soon to have a proof of his presence under 
circumstances calculated to excite in her a keen 
personal interest. 


Constance. 


75 


CHAPTEE VI. 

It was seldom that a day passed in which Con- 
stance did not go to the church, if not for prayer, 
at least for a few minutes of silent communion 
with her mother^s spirit. She seemed to feel 
the presence of this saint encircling the little 
bench where, as a child, she had passed so many 
hours during mass, counting the pictures in the 
unemployed prayer-book, and where, in after 
years, she had knelt in religious devotion with 
the vision of her dear mother seemingly ever pres- 
ent beside her. 

A book bound in black morocco, sadly rubbed 
at the corners, lay in the place formerly occu- 
pied by Madame Vidal, and in which no one ever 
sat now but Stany. In her ecstacy she gave her- 
self over to an appealing sentiment in the strictest 
confidence, closing her eyes to dream that she 
could feel the nearness of the frail form she had 
seen lessening day by day, so strangely passing, 
as it seemed, into ether. 

She chose the hour of early twilight, which 
before it mantled the outside world, invaded the 
low, narrow naves and shone heavily through the 
stained windows. Leaning against the high, 
wooden back, that seemingly still bore the imprint 
of that cherished head, she invoked the image of 
her mother, recalling every recommendation and 


76 Constance. 

every instruction the dear one had given her, and 
promising anew to obey them. She had never 
confided the love of these sacred moments to any 
one. Her father knew that she attended the 
church oftener than he could have desired, but 
he allowed her every liberty, upon the condition 
that her Cure (whom he admitted was a noble 
man) should not visit at the Priourat, for he felt 
the insurmountable repulsion of the Voltarian for 
a priest. He also considered it unnecessary to 
observe too closely a number of useless practices 
counted by him as so much bigotry. He per- 
mitted her to acquit herself of her Christian 
duties, in a way, as she thought proper, but dis- 
couraged any personal directions upon the part of 
the priest, for M. Vidal was more tolerant than 
most free-thinkers, and asked nothing more ex- 
acting of her. Perhaps, however, the influence 
of the good old priest who officiated in the parish 
would have tended more to moderate than exalt 
Stany^s religious fervor, by gradually drawing 
her dreamy soul into the ordinary channels, there- 
by permitting the imprisoned fervor to evaporate 
a little ; for now it savored of some subtile essence 
sealed in a great vase. On the other hand, forced 
as she was, always to fall back upon herself, that 
ardent piety of the neophyte which she had in- 
herited from her mother, that Catholic mysticism 
confounded in her soul with filial affection, was 
concentrated, and grew vastly in intensity. 

To-day, for example, her meditations had 
touched upon something but rarely considered by 
youth — the vanity in all terrestrial things — and 
her thoughts were tinged with a gloom she had 


Constance. 


77 


never before experienced, taking their tone, per- 
haps, from some recent occurrence. The thought 
that one could love once and not always, had 
come to haunt her with strange horror. ^^Was 
it possible,^^ she said to herself, ^That two people 
once having been all in all to one another could 
become enemies The awakening imagination 
cannot accept these disenchantments without suf- 
fering, as the veil is drawn aside from the reali- 
ties of life, and they are forced upon us as unde- 
niable facts under the head of ^That goes without 
saying.^^ 

Stany dwelt upon this insignificance of earthly 
affection with singular austerity, when suddenly 
she beheld one of the faces which had mingled 
with her refiections. When she saw M. de Glenne 
enter the church it came as a violent shock to her 
nerves — surprise at first, then joy. The man who 
seeks God in his sorrow is certainly not hopelessly 
lost, nor can he, being a Christian, fail, sooner or 
later, to renounce all vestige of rancor and hate, 
which, from the rumors that had reached Stany, 
de Glenne must in one instance have displayed. 

Perhaps it was not as a Christian that M. de 
Glenne visited the church; it might be that he 
was prompted by simple curiosity to examine the 
historic features and grotesque animals of gothic 
architecture. She sat very quietly watching M. 
de Glenne, who, thinking himself alone, was lean- 
ing carelessly against a pillar. He did not kneel, 
but presently began to make a tour of the church 
slowly, in quest, perhaps, of that curious piece of 
Eoman iconograph which represents, in ingenuous 
details, the first temptation. His shadow flitted 


78 


Constance. 


beneath the central vaulted roof, and was at times 
almost indistinguishable ; after halting unde- 
cidedly before a sculptured stone, he slowly re- 
gained the choir and sat down in one of the chairs, 
apparently overcome and morose, so it seemed to 
Stany, who watched his every movement. For a 
long time he sat with his head bowed. Was he 
praying? In asking herself the question Stany 
addressed a fervent prayer to heaven that might 
join or even replace his. She prayed for this 
stranger, knowing neither his wants nor his sor- 
.rows, and she prayed for that unknown woman 
who had crossed her destiny; she asked that He 
who is all powerful to change our hearts, might 
inspire him with thoughts of justice and mercy, 
and her, poor wanderer, with necessary resigna- 
tion. 

Twice M. de Glenne passed his hand across his 
forehead with an air of bewilderment, then rested 
his elbow upon his knee and his chin in his hand, 
thinking. From the place she occupied Stany 
could merely see his profile, and that indistinctly, 
but it seemed to her that his features were be- 
coming more serene, and she gladly acknowledged 
to herself that he was prolonging his visit to the 
church for reasons evidently foreign to vulgar 
curiosity. 

The setting sun filtered through the window 
and lighted upon his bowed head, which was de- 
cidedly interesting, Stany thought, with that 
vague attraction the southerner, who has jour- 
neyed little beyond his own clime, feels for 
the blond type of the north. In any country, 
for that matter, and to a woman of any race, the 


Constance. 


79 


face of M. de Glenne would have appealed as be- 
ing agreeable and distinguished, but the sympathy 
of Constance Vidal was aroused more by its ex- 
pression of profound sadness. 

The intensity of a fixed regard has a certain 
magnetic infiuence to which persons of a nervous 
temperament are extremely sensitive. While M. 
de Glenne had thought the church empty as well 
as silent, he felt more and more that he was not 
alone ; in looking about him he perceived the out- 
line of a feminine form at some distance from 
him; hastily, as if he were ashamed or angry at 
having thought of his most intimate secrets before 
a witness, he arose and disappeared in one of the 
side aisles, while Stany, overcome with confusion 
at having been surprised by him in awkward curi- 
osity, hastily departed by the other. Hazard 
threw them together again near the door, as the 
young woman touched her fingertips with sacred 
water. She hesitated a moment, and then with 
a deliberate movement offered some to the 
Parisian. He seemed astonished, while his glance 
encountered the beautiful black eyes, lifted to 
him with a look at once grave and timid ; rapidly 
recovering himself he bowed and touching the 
moist fingers made the sign of the cross. For 
Stany, whose father had required no concession 
in this matter, it was a spiritual gauge of frater- 
nity. The vague smile that passed over her fea- 
tures seemed so charming to M. de Glenne that 
by some enchantment he forgot all else, even the 
weight of his preoccupation more or less profane, 
which he had brought into this sacred place where 
he did not seek his God. 


80 


Constance. 


Prom the portal of the church he watched the 
adorable apparition vanishing and finally disap- 
pear within the house he knew to be M. VidaFs. 
He remembered now M. Duranton had said ^^my 
niece^^ in speaking of the pedestrian in la Garenne, 
and it was certainly none other than Mile. Vidal. 
So much the better; he should see her again. 
Several times during the evening he recalled her 
gentle, chaste expression, so different from any- 
thing he had ever read in the eyes of a woman. 
He seemed still to feel the freshness of that "'eau 
ienite'" and the contact of her slightly tremulous 
white hand. 


Constance. 


81 


CHAPTER VII. 

Had it not been for this encounter, he would 
doubtless have delayed in paying his promised 
visit to the doctor. The fear of some allusion, 
even indirect, to that unfortunate event at the 
Park had caused him to hesitate until now, but 
the virtue of the cross imposed upon him at once 
dispelled all fear. 

The following day he presented himself at the 
Priourat, urged by a sentiment he would have 
silenced had he exercised that rigorous analysis 
of himself to which he had been so long accus- 
tomed. 

Who is there even among the most scrupulously 
clairvoyant who will not at times act blindly? 
Who is there who can resist the flavor of a fore- 
taste of happiness, that subtle beverage so sweetly 
tempting and reassuring. 

The reception accorded him by M. Vidal in- 
dicated an evident desire, with this excellent man, 
to forget everything which might in any way be 
disagreeable to his guest. He entered upon a de- 
tailed description of his handsome collection of 
books; such numbers of botanies and technical 
works were shown M. de Glenne that it rested 
with him to extract a certain pleasure from the 
visit. Doubtless he had nourished some different 
sentiment, for he returned home vaguely disap- 


82 


Constance. 


pointed, having caught a glimpse of no feminine 
figure other than Catinon. 

As he had walked, the doctor accompanied him 
for a mile or so upon his return journey; he had 
a visit to pay in that direction to a buxom woman, 
a trifle coquettish, who was married to a hot- 
headed, jealous Spaniard. Her husband had be- 
come angered with her for receiving the atten- 
tions of a neighboring farmer and had in his 
fury almost killed her with the pitchfork he had 
had in his hands at the time ; she had been terri- 
bly misused and scarred with the iron prongs, but 
the doctor averred that he intended to stand by 
her so well, that she would soon be in condition to 
make new conquests. Vidal had a bantering way 
of putting a thing. 

^^That is an honest undertaking you propose for 
yourself,’^ said M. de Glenne, ^^etter allow such 
mischievous beast to die.^^ 

^Mischievous,^ h — m, poor Francounette is 
not so bad as that. She has born him vigorous 
children who owe their health and beauty en- 
tirely to her. What more could you ask? The 
hour of the crisis rings in the country as well as 
the town. Que boulez? That is the term which 
smacks of the soil. But I shall not attempt her 
defense; you do not seem to have much pity for 
the weakness of her sex?^^ 

^^True,^^ replied de Glenne ; ^The Spaniard could 
have struck to better purpose so far as I am con- 
cerned. The satisfaction of blows, is, I fear, but 
half appreciated. Those people can relieve their 
feelings better than we; our miserable resource 
is a challenge to a ceremonious duel^ with a rival 


Constance. 


83 


who is ofttimes as much a dupe as ourselves. But 
after he administered this first correction, what 
became of the poor devil of a husband 

^^Good; there you are pitying the executioner. 
He left his wife lying there for dead, and ran 
across the fields, scarce knowing what he did, 
until in the midst of his passionate excitement he 
thought of his children. The remembrance of 
his children brought him back; he is there,^^ and 
the doctor pointed to a small hut close to the road- 
side. propos,^^ continued Vidal, had some- 
thing to tell you, another of my patients before 
her departure charged me to repeat a promise to 
you which will doubtless cause you some pleasure ; 
she afssured me you would never see her again.^^ 
M. de Glenne had changed color instantly. 

^Tt has been a good many years since the per- 
son to whom you allude took that vow for the 
first time, and you know how she has kept it. 
The words of women count for little; without ex- 
ception they all lie with the same facility with 
which they breathe.^^ 

^Termit me to plead the cause of a few, be- 
fore you pronounce such a judgment; think of 
your mother, responded the doctor from the 
doorstep. 

never knew her. I know nothing of the 
species but the most deplorable examples. To 
return to your patient: you must keep me in- 
formed as to the ultimate termination of her 
little romance.^^ 

^^Willingly, but I can foresee the end. He will 
forgive, so long as the blow was not fatal.^^ 
^^Then we conclude those people are brutes — in- 


84 Constance. 

capable of feeling as they should, incapable of 
hating/^ 

^^Education has not inculcated self-esteem in 
them/^ said the doctor, shrugging his shoulders; 
^^this man will forgive for the sake of his chil- 
dren/^ 

^^Ah, children 

^^Say nothing against them, my dear sir, for I 
could commit all sorts of cowardly acts for my 
little girl/^ 

^^That is readily conceded by any one who has 
had a peep at Mile. Vidal. You are a fortunate 
father/^ 

^^Yes, until some one takes her from me. But 
we have time to prepare for thsit/’ continued the 
doctor, who never thought of Stany^s age, he was 
so accustomed to regard her as a little girl. 
shall see you soon again, I trust,^^ he added, as 
he entered the low shelter, and de Glenne con- 
tinued his way. 

As his angry thoughts took shape, he laid low 
the thistles that chanced beneath his cane. 

Tardon — pardon,^ what an absurdity ! To 
know that from top to bottom of the ladder, they 
are all the same; all — or nearly all, for, perhaps 
Vidal is partially correct. There are some wo- 
men who surely would not lie.^^ He recalled the 
candid face of Mile. Vidal, with her singularly 
beautiful face. ^^Young girls, real young girls 
— angels — bah!^^ He interrupted himself with a 
sharp laugh. ^^Sooner or later she will be like 
all the rest; but why did she hijje herself so per- 
sistently to-day 

Stany had had no preconceived idea of hiding 


Constance. 


85 


herself; she had remained outside from discre- 
tion, as she iisually did when her father received 
a call. Twenty-four hours later de Glenne met 
her as he was passing la Brousse. She was leav- 
ing this same hut alone with a little basket on 
her arm — a visit of an angel to an outcast. In 
his surprise he stopped to speak with her. 

^Tt seems. Mademoiselle, that you concur in 
your father^s opinions. You have been visiting 
a sick person, have you not?’^ 

^^How did you know about it she answered in 
the same tone. 

^The doctor spoke to me of the individual in 
question.^^ 

^^She is unfortunate, and in a pitiable plight; 
I brought her a few things I thought she might 
relish. These people can only afford the coarsest 
food.^^ 

^^You are very good.^^ 

^^You do not understand yet; in these parts it 
is our habit to help each other,^^ she said with 
vivacity to disclaim any thought of charity. 

admire your ability to become interested in 
that person.^^ 

^Why, pray? In interest myself in all who 
Buffer.^^ 

^TEven when they merit punishment 

She became grave. 

^^Who does not merit suffering? We all have 
our faults, either large or small, for which to 
make reparation.^^ 

^^Those are very austere thoughts for one of 
your age,^^ said de Glenne, continuing to walk 
beside her. ^^Your father knows, of course, that 


86 Constance. 

yon come here^ and he does not oppose yon in it 

father has never opposed my doing the lit- 
tle good that lies in my power.' I do not inqnire 
into the fanlts of the people aronnd me. I conld 
not presnme to do that. The Bible says that 
Christ has pardoned very cnlpable people, far more 
cnlpable than this woman I am snre.^^ Her voice 
was calm and nntronbled, proving that she nn- 
derstood perfectly what she intended to imply, 
and now it was M. de Glenne who seemed embar- 
rassed. He had met very artless, ingennons girls 
in society, who knew nothing of wrong, becanse 
their edncation eliminated anything pertaining 
to it; he had encountered very bold ones, who 
spoke of it in attractive terms before they knew 
anything of it; but this candor, without igno- 
rance, nothing had ever given him an idea of it 
before, and he felt ashamed of the traps he had 
been laying for this simple, guileless little wo- 
man. 

^"You are right, I am sure ; we should have pity.'’^ 

For this word she recompensed him with a radi- 
ant smile, and as he seemed disinclined to leave 
her, she nodded a simple au revoir as she entered 
another cottage where she had some dainties to be- 
stow; for the little basket, filled daily for her 
trip through the village, was not yet empty. 

During the days immediately following this 
happy little encounter M. de Glenne did not see 
her; several times he called at the Priourat, but 
Constance did not appear, and each time he felt 
vexed at her absence. At last, one evening, he 
surprised her seated at the doctor’s desk, copying 
in large firm letters from sheets covered with the 


Constance. 


87 


doctor’s hieroglyphics, which he handed her one 
after the other. This time she remained, and 
afterwards when he came she did not seek to go 
away, but in no wise entered into the conversation 
unless she was directly addressed. 

Seated in the window with her sewing (she was 
rarely unoccupied) she heard all that was said, 
and her intelligent smile or her silent questioning 
eyes betokened her interest in the serious topics 
they usually discussed. Of course de Glenne made 
every effort to be particularly interesting in these 
little impromptu affairs, and he would have scouted 
the idea that he catered to the opinion of this 
child. No matter; she represented youth and in- 
nocence, and perhaps (at least he gathered so from 
her glance) spontaneous, involuntary sympathy. 
Such power is sovereign over the imagination of a 
man, even blase, even old, as pretended the soli- 
tary individual from the Park. After a few weeks, 
however, he no longer had the right to this title of 
^^solitary,” for the bonds of cordiality were fully 
established between the Park and the Priourat. 

like this Dr. Vidal more and more,” repeated 
M. de Glenne as an excuse for this assiduity. 

Stany, without a thought, passed from the pity 
she had felt at first, to a frank admiration for 
this new friend of her father, whose presence 
brought to the house such pleasant, inspiring con- 
versation. She began to perceive that heretofore 
their life had been a trifle monotonous. Until 
now she had attributed it to the absence of her 
mother, felt that the sadness which overcame her 
had nothing in common with ennui; she had been 
even happy to feel this sadness as a proof that 


88 Constance. 

her dear one was forgotten no more than in the 
first days of her absence. Since M. de Glenne had 
become a visitor at the Priourat it seemed as if 
she had begun an existence full of incident. 
These incidents — what were they? The sound of 
a horse cantering upon the highway, the atten- 
tion accorded this sound each day at a certain 
hour, the deception of the slightest delay, the 
prospect of dining with M. de Glenne, the in- 
finite effort that everything should be, if not so 
elaborate as he would have in Paris, at least that 
it should be worthy of him. 

What a thrill of pleasurable emotion she had 
felt at receiving a bouquet gathered at the Park, 
which, thanks to the care she had bestowed upon 
it, was still fresh and blooming upon her work 
table ! 

These were all incidents to her, and she at- 
tached great importance to them; she gave no 
name to the feeling she had for de Glenne, but she 
often asked herself why the delicious friendship 
which had existed between two women (as she 
saw it reflected in the letters of Madame de La- 
tour- Ambert) could not exist between a man of 
the age of M. de Glenne and a young girl like 
herself. 

‘‘Unfortunately,” she thought, “the young girl 
has so little to offer, she is so slightly interesting.” 
She buried herself in her reading to acquire some 
right to appeal more directly to his attention and 
esteem ; she sought to acquire the historical studies 
he had written, and even thought she could dis- 
cover in them the imprint of genius. Surely, she 
could never have the audacity to converse with 


Constance. 


89 


that man. As a mental exercise she stimulated 
her father to undertakings he had shunned as 
too arduous^ and she forced herself to work coura- 
geously at them. It could only be by mere con- 
descension, she thought, that their neighbor spoke 
with her upon trivial subjects. She decided to 
astonish him some day, to make known her knowl- 
edge of the sixteenth century, which marked the 
period of his efforts ; but despite her resolution she 
was ever fearful of appearing even slightly pe- 
dantic, and M. de Glenne, in speaking of the roses 
she cultivated, of her pets whom she adored, of 
the beautiful walks here and there through the 
country, continued to limit himself, she was 
sure, to what he considered her sphere. 


90 


Constance. 


CHAPTEE VIII. 

During the vacation Henriette Duranton came 
to make an extended visit at the Prionrat. She 
was surprised to find upon what a footing of in- 
timacy the Parisian was received amidst her kins- 
folk — ^he who had at one time produced such an 
impression upon her^ although she had forgotten 
it now entirely. Experiences of that kind suc- 
ceeded each other very rapidly in the mind of 
Mile. Duranton^ and the newest was ever the 
most welcome. A young government official who 
had recently come to Nerac was monopolizing her 
thoughts for the present; it appeared^ too, that 
this latest caprice might terminate in a marriage, 
M. Capdeveille being a Protestant, and in a posi- 
tion where his income, while, modest, was assured. 
Moreover, Mile. Duranton was in nowise blind 
to the fact that M. de Glenne was several years 
too old for the role of lover, athough the country 
air had certainly rejuvenated him to a certain ex- 
tent, and added a healthy freshness to his skin. 
She repeated, nevertheless, that her father con- 
sidered him a very dangerous man. Was it not 
astonishing that M. Vidal should receive at his 
fireside the hero of such an inexplicable and sus- 
picious romance when gossip about him came from 
every mouth, although he had wisely suppressed 
the facts by retaining in his employ the Escaloup 
family. 


Constance. 


01 


To think of this man^ with his very correct man- 
ners and indifferent air, nearly causing the death 
of a woman. Henriette could not forget that. 

^^As for me/^ said Stany, frankly, think of 
it less and less. Not really knowing the truth, 
and guessing, you know, is not precise, I have 
concluded to look at it charitably and in the least 
unfavorable light toward M. de Glenne.^^ 

^^But how can you be charitable to him without 
being the reverse toward her 
don^t know her.^^ 

^^Well, I have thought of it a great deal and 
built a story of it, one that seems very probable 
from one end to the other.^^ 

^^What is it? I confess you are more ingeni- 
ous than I. I have thought of nothing at all.^^ 

^Tt is very simple. M. de Glenne, preferring 
not to marry, has played the gallant to all women 
— the most immoral thing in the world, as mama 
very truly said."^^ 

Stany began to laugh, but Henriette continued 
seriously, being entirely satisfied with her ver- 
sion, and even a little provoked at her cousin’s 
levity; she had grown strict upon this point, the 
young recorder being of the number who marry 
early. 

^Tt happened as it always does,” she continued, 
^^that these improper persons are caught in their 
own traps. He encountered a coquette, quite as 
clever as he— for there seems to be but one opin- 
ion in that respect, the lady certainly had the 
face of a coquette.” 

Stany admitted that the person of whom she 
had had a glimpse that morning in the victoria 


92 


Constance. 


might be a coquette; in the English novels Hen- 
riette loaned her from time to time there was usu- 
ally the character of a ^^flirt/^ and she had formed 
from that a vague idea of what a coquette might 
be. 

^^This coquette/^ continued Mile. Duranton 
with conviction, ^Vas no longer a simple little 
girl; it seems that widows are generally the most 
successful at that game, and the age of a widow 
would correspond better to that of M. de Glenne.’^ 
interrupted Stany, ^%e certainly thought 
him considerably older than he is : sometimes now 
he does not look more than thirty.^^ 

^^You know he must be six years beyond that, 
for he was in the war of seventy.^^ 

^^He was Just from Saint-Cyr.^^ 

^^ery well, this is 1884, consequently it was un- 
doubtedly a widow, a charming person who had a 
misunderstanding with him as the result of some 
imprudence. He believed some of the things 
that were carelessly repeated, and in a fit of Jeal- 
ousy, with no serious motive, severed the relation- 
ship that was known to everybody, and thereby 
ruined the reputation of the lady.^^ 

^^But,’^ hazarded Stany, ^^that proves nothing.^^ 
^^Listen, I have not finished; you shall see how 
probable it all seems. M. de Glenne carried his 
regrets and his anger with him through Spain; 
the despairing letters which were written him were 
lost, for he had confided his plans to no one. 
Briefly, this young person, receiving no reply and 
Judging he had washed his hands of her com- 
pletely, could not endure it; she wanted to recon- 
quer his affections or put an end to her exist- 


Constance. 93 

ence, and it was with this intention that she came 
to the Park. How had she found his address? 
Pshaw, it was easy enough to conceal your where- 
abouts in a foreign land, but one can’t buy an 
estate in any corner of France without having it 
noised about. Having found a clue as to his 
hiding place, she came and saw him, talked with 
him, and he, the villain, unwilling to believe in 
her innocence, she stabbed herself in the heart.” 

Hot exactly,” observed Stany, ^‘as she was en- 
tirely cured and able to leave in about ei^lit 
days.” 

_ “It is certain,” continued Henriette, interrupted 
m the composition of her romance, “that from an 
emotional point of view it would have been better 
had she killed herself, but I prefer a denouement 
somewhat less stereotyped that will please those 
who like a romance to end well.” 

“You understand, my dear, this romance of 
yours has neither head nor tail.” 

“Hovels are mere reflections of real life,” re- 
plied Henriette, sententiously. “In this lonely vil- 
lage where the lonely person had concealed him- 
self there lived a pretty young miss, and, as a 
consequence of the daily visits between him and 
her father, she had occasion to speak with him 
frequently, so what do you suppose she did? 
She used her influence to foing the two lovers to- 
gether again.” 

Oh, mercy,” cried Stany, dumbfounded, “I 
have no influence with M. de Glenne, and never 
talk with him except upon trivial subjects.” 

“With a little diplomacy you could pass from 
,those unimportant things to ones of a more seri- 


94 Constance. 

ous nature. The thing that will make my last 
chapter really pathetic will be a very delicate allu- 
sion to the great sacrifice the young person will 
have made, for it-seems she had begun to nourish 
a very tender sentiment in her heart, which she 
smothered as soon as she understood that he who 
appealed so strongly to her was the property of an- 
othev.’^ 

^^Look here, my dear, let us explain ourselves,^^ 
said Stany, mockingly. ^Ts it not true that your 
heroine is called Mile. Duranton? I know of no 
one else who, from the first meeting, experienced, 
or nearly experienced, a tender sentiment.^^ 

^Tshaw, childish prattle, mere pastime in wait- 
ing for Horace Capdeveille. He only hails from 
Toulouse, but he is twenty-six years old, and still 
in the possession of all his hair.^^ 

At this sally they burst into laughter, and the 
conversation, of which M. de Glenne had been the 
topic, terminated. Several days afterwards, one 
fine afternoon, they went for a stroll in the oak 
forest which encircled the Park. Henriette had 
directed the excursion, under various pretexts, to 
mask the desire she felt to see what changes the 
new proprietor had effected, but very little could 
be seen from the outside with the exception of 
the entrance gates, which had been painted white 
and the avenue scrupulously maintained. 

should love to see what the old house looks 
like,^^ sighed Henriette. 

^Tapa dines with M. de Glenne now and then ; 
he told me it was very tastefully arranged, said 
Stany, continuing her walk. 

^^And have you never been tempted to enter 


Constance. 


95 


questioned Henriette, with one or two furtive steps 
in the deserted avenue^ cautious like some timid 
fawn. 

never come this way ; there is nothing to bring 

me.^^ 

^^La, la, I have more curiosity than you have. 
I am tempted to run to the other end of the ave- 
nue to catch a glimpse, just a little peep at the 
terrace,’^ and she darted away like an arrow, while 
Stany called to her in vain. 

^^How foolish, Henriette. If some one should 
see you — come back.^^ 

Henriette did not slacken her speed, and Stany 
thought it scarcely generous to permit her to take 
the risk of the expedition alone; she followed, 
but could not come up with her until she had 
stopped at the entrance to the terrace. 

^^You see, after all, there is no one about,^^ said 
Henriette, breathlessly. ^^And if there should be, 
it is no great crime. If you are afraid, wait where 
you are.^^ 

am not afraid, only I think we both have the 
air of being very indiscreet, not to say badly 
reared 

^^Very well, I will accept all the responsibility; 
don^t worry over it, you are by far too timid.^^ 

^^Henriette 

Henriette excited by resistance, had stepped 
boldly out upon the terrace. 

^^Ah, Stany^ see those gorgeous geraniums in the 
faience vases, the entire length of the steps, and 
those baskets on the lawn ! He must have them 
watered from morning to night to keep them so 
green. Who ever saw such grass in this part of 


96 Constance. 

the world before r That ts luxury. Eeal luxury, 
how clean it all looks — ^what a transformation! 
Is it possible this is the same old Park. A fairy 
must have touched it with her wand/^ 

^^Come, you are satisfied, now; hurry, let us go, 
please/^ 

^^Just a moment, Stany. How those wooden 
frames improve the dormer windows ; they were so 
ugly before/^ 

“A very good effect, but come away — ah! mon 
Dieu! you see we are too late/^ 

A large fawn-colored greyhound, sunning him- 
self before the door, had looked up uneasily and 
barked, but he knew Stany, for his visits to the 
Priourat were festive occasions when Stany fed 
him upon sugar morsels, and he now bounded to- 
ward her with the most extravagant signs of hos- 
pitality. 

^^Down, Dash she said in a low tone, continu- 
ing her efforts to lead Henriette away. ^^Down, 
sir ! If Dash is here M. de Glenne cannot be far 
away. Ah, so much the worse ! I can do nothing 
with you, you act so foolishly."" 

Henriette, reassured by the dog"s silence, made 
another advance toward the house, whose open 
windows were temptations beyond her power of 
resistance. What could the lodgings of a Paris- 
ian look like, anyway? If the exterior counted 
for anything, the '"camp"" must be the ne plus ul- 
tra of comfort and elegance. As stealthily as a 
cat, and quivering with her own audacity, she ap- 
proached one of the windows and plunged regard- 
lessly into the old salon of the late Madame 
Nougarede. The papering of yore (with its plain 


Constance. 


07 


imperial pattern in brown with bine wreaths 
caught here and there at regular intervals with 
clusters of Eoman lances) was buried now be- 
neath hangings of oriental stuffs; there was a 
heavy carpet upon the floor that had heretofore 
been bare; the tiny old gondola chairs were re- 
placed by low divans and upholstered stools; the 
one round mahogany table of yore was multiplied 
into a myriad of tiny stands, laden with objects 
of which Henriette could not divine the usage — the 
whole breathing an essence of Eussia leather a bit 
intoxicating, for now her head ventured through 
the open window quite into a room very much in 
disorder, she thought, for her ideas of arrangement 
were limited to the stiff chairs against the walls 
and little square mats arithmetically placed before 
each one. 

‘^Will you do me the honor to come in. Mademoi- 
selle?^^ said a voice hailing from some invisible 
nook. M. de Glenne came smilingly toward the 
window, while Henriette, dismayed at her own au- 
dacity, recoiled now with her eyes set upon him 
as if she were facing a specter. But Stany came 
to her rescue with great presence of mind ; she had 
assisted at the disaster from a little distance, and 
while she was powerless to avert it, could at least 
formulate an honorable retreat. There was noth- 
ing of the prude in the dignity of this little person, 
nor awkwardness in her timidity. She came up 
just as Henriette, overcome with her unfortunate 
escapade, sought to offer some excuse. 

came with my cousin for — for 

^^Yes,^^ continued Stany, bravely facing the dif- 
ficulty and shouldering the misdeed, were out 


98 


Constance. 


walking, and the desire to revisit the place where, 
as children, we had spent so many happy hours 
overcame our judgment. I hope, Monsieur, you 
will excuse Henriette and I.^^ 

^^Excuse you V’ exclaimed M. de Glenne ; ^^Mlle. 
Duranton should be perfectly at home here. You 
must not refuse to rest for a few minutes, the heat 
is so intense. I beg of you V’ he added, and Con- ' 
stance sat down upon one of the rustic tenches be- 
fore the house. 

^^You prefer to remain outside? Just as you 
like; Janonette shall bring you some refresh- 
ments.” 

He succeeded in reassuring them by his manner, 
at once respectful and half paternal. Eefined peo- 
ple possess the art of placing at their ease those 
who have infringed upon strict conventionality by 
suggesting excuses rather than by seeking to embar- 
rass them. Stany was touched by this delicacy; 
as for Henriette, in a few minutes^ time she con- 
cluded that after all she had committed no error, 
and expanded into endless questions upon the fash- 
ion of procedure to maintain so green a lawn in 
summer (the eighth wonder of the world to a Gas- 
con, who is accustomed to nothing but prairies of 
burnt brown). M. de Glenne permitted her to 
question to her entire satisfaction, replying with 
a minute understanding of the art of gardening, 
but not insisting, as Henriette could have wished, 
upon their visiting the interior of the house. He 
was so amiable that even Stany forgot what there 
was really shocking in the situation. She did 
honor to the little lunch served on the terrace. 


Constance. 99 

and accepted her share of the flowers which M. de 
Glenne gathered for them. 

Henriette boldly pinned hers on her corsage, 
and Stany, rather than appear even silently to 
blame her for so proceeding, sacrificed her little 
boutonniere of wild thyme she had so carefully 
gathered during the early part of the promenade. 
This afforded Henriette ample amusement for a 
few moments, and she seized the time (when M. 
de Glenne, in spite of their protestations, had gone 
to order the carriage to drive them home) to draw 
Stany^s attention to the fact that her flowers were 
no longer where she had thrown them. 

^^You are unpardonable,^^ cried Stany, blushing 
to the roots of her hair. 

^^Because I see through things? What became 
of them ? I did not aspire to them, little withered 
herbs that they were; you did not pick them up 
again, and there were but the three of us. Now 
pretend that I made it up, or that I am not a close 
observer. It passes even my imagination. I 
should never have dreamed that so great a savant 
could be so permeated with sentiment — at his 
age, too; and Parisian besides. Those are child- 
ish attentions that I could hardly look for even 
in Horace.^^ 

^Tt is a pure fabrication,^^ said Stany impatient- 
ly, but despite her assurance her eyes sought the 
spot where she remembered having thrown the 
little bunch of thyme. It was no longer there. 
Surely it was mere notion upon the part of Henri- 
ette, but she felt less at ease now than ever. M. 
de Glenne insisted upon driving them back him- 
self, and they offered no objection, thinking their 

LofC. 


100 


Constance. 


imprudence in visiting the Park could but be ag- 
gravated by any attempt at secrecy. This ar- 
rangement would permit of M. de Glenne having 
a chat with the doctor^ who would be in nowise 
surprised at their adventure^ but probably pleased. 

The reserved and ceremonious manner of his 
wife had annoyed him at times; he would laugh- 
ingly reproach her with being too punctilious, of 
always looking everywhere but in the right place, 
and unfortunately this one fault had been trans- 
mitted, and embodied the one fault of the daugh- 
ter, so that while Stany had never journeyed be- 
yond the paternal hearth, she had a touch of the 
mannerisms of Saint-Denis. 

As was anticipated, the burlesque recital of the 
invasion of the Park by two young misses, who- 
had been captured and brought home under suffi- 
cient guard amused him very much. He kept M. 
de Glenne for dinner, and the evening passed 
quickly. A feeling of involuntary vexation, how- 
ever, overpowered Stany, for M. de Glenne ad- 
dressed himself preferably to Henriette, and she 
evidently flattered, received his attentions as gra- 
ciously as if Horace Capdeveille had never existed. 

After supper they went for a stroll about the 
village. October had just begun, and the sky 
was a pure midsummer sapphire. About the farm- 
yards the cornshucking was in full blast, with its 
accompaniment of songs and laughter, stories and 
riddles, the workmen following their usual form of 
amusement during the labor. Upon the thresh- 
ing floors lay the white sheets into which fell the 
white rounded ears of corn, bereft of their cover- 
ing of silk and fiber. Nowhere along the route 


Constance. 


iOl 

was the cornshucking half so gay this year as at 
La Brousse, only a few weeks befbre the scene of 
a drama that had so nearly had a fatal termina- 
tion. 

^^The Spaniard has pardoned, as I told yon/^ 
laughed the doctor. At the same instant the voice 
of a young woman rang out clear and firm above 
the general tumult: 

La bach dans la riberoto 
Uamour ba^, 

Landerideto. 

Uamour ba, 

Landerida/^ 

(Yonder in the stream, I stretch a silken net. 
Love seeks to trap the lark. Love flies.) 

^^Do you know,^^ said M. de Glenne, ^^everything 
is poetic in this charming place. I become more 
and more attached to it.^^ 

His heart was expanding, but the motive was a 
hidden one to him. 

^^All the better/^ replied the doctor with pleas- 
ure, ^Ve stand some chance of keeping you then. 
It is a magnificent evening — one of those nights 
that makes us glad of our existence. Do you agree 
with me r 

The young voices as fresh and piercing as the 
lark^s shrill pipe, continued their song of love, 
halting suddenly, from all appearances, by a ca- 
ress. It was difficult now to distinguish one group 
from the other, save vaguely in the moonlight, but 
the lads and lasssies were merrymaking together, 


102 


Constance. 


CHAPTEE IX. 

Every one knows the country in winter — ^the 
silence, the sensation of aloneness, and how it 
draws near neighbors together as prisoners in a 
little circle. The impassable state of the roads, 
sunken by the flooding of rains common to this 
country, where it seldom freezes, rendered com- 
munication with Nerac entirely uncertain. The 
doctor, indifferent to all external affairs, worked 
as usual. His entire life (except in case of sick- 
ness, when he obeyed the calls grumblingly, but 
without hesitation, by day or night) was con- 
centrated in his study, which Stany rarely left, 
being held by the expectation of a daily interest, 
the visit of M. de Glenne. She prepared herself 
for it in advance ; she arranged conversation where- 
in she was to place a few words, and which pos- 
sessed the single disadvantage of remaining en- 
tirely imaginary. She sat for an hour before her 
glass, arranging her hair, and her toilets bespoke 
an awakening coquetry; then, when the visitor 
arrived, all presence of mind abandoned her; she 
could find nothing, or almost nothing, to say; a 
fear swept over her and paralyzed every idea. What 
if he should interpret her little preparations as 
advances made to him? She would die of morti- 
fication. On the contrary, it was probable he 
would never notice them. 

However, M. de Glenne always seemed happier 


Constance. 


103 


seated in the big chair^ which even Catinon had 
learned to call the neighbor's place^ at the corner 
of the hearth, where the pine fire blustered and 
blazed. Stany thought his manner extremely ami- 
able and friendly, when, upon entering, he would 
say: 

is good in here. I know of no fire that can 
compare with this one.^^ 

One might have thought in reality that he had 
been cold for a long time, cruelly cold, and that 
now he was warming himself with relish, soul 
and body. 

would willingly pass my life in this nook. 
It seems to be a little what I am doing ; have you 
noticed? When I prove burdensome, you must 
tell me; I would go to Paris at once.^^ 

Several times he had announced this intention, 
thus disconcerting Stany, but the doctor had final- 
ly said, with his rough hospitality : 

truce to ceremony. Dispose of my house 
as if it were your own, and don^t speak of it 
again.^^ 

Upon these conditions he seemed on the verge 
of being entirely satisfied with the Park, in spite 
of the bad season, which, however, was clement, 
for the climate of Albret has nothing to envy 
Italy but her blue skies and dry roads. 

That winter was a dream for M. de Glenne — 
one of those sweet, happy dreams during which 
we vaguely feel the unreality, and that the pleas- 
ure in which we are sinking ourselves cannot en- 
dure, and exactly as we guard against the slight- 
est movement which can put our illustion to flight, 
as we bury ourselves more deeply in the downy 


104 


Constance. 


pillows and almost seek to obliterate our personali- 
ty to escape the brutal awakening, so M. de Glenne 
felt. He would await with almost juvenile impa- 
tience for the hour when he habitually went to the 
Priourat. It was almost as if he were held and 
drawn by fine but invincible threads toward his 
destiny in spite of himself; he could hear the 
cheery voice of the doctor welcoming him, he could 
see the glance of this young girl, the eloquent re- 
gard wherein he read all her mouth would not 
own, those eyes shimmering with expectation, half 
hidden by the long lashes palpitating upon the 
blushing cheek. Into those eyes he plunged as he 
would into a fountain of freshness and purity, 
where he shook from his soul all the bitter fruits 
of his experience, to envelope himself anew in all 
the exquisite illusions of youth. Those great vel- 
vety orbs were like a magnet to him ; when he was 
away he could still feel their magnetic influence. 
^^What will they say to me to-day he thought. 
In his feverish impatience to know, he urged his 
horse more rapidly toward the Priourat; he ar- 
rived breathless, as if he had run. Every night 
it was the same thing. A fresh knot had been 
thrown into the flames, the pine crackled gaily 
in the midst of the dancing sparks of blue and 
red, the doctor turned the key of his student’s 
lamp which was illuminating the room as upon 
some festal occasion, and Catinou brought the tea, 
asking herself with horror how these Christians 
could drink tea unless they were ill; but Stany 
insisted upon this in conformity with the habit 
at the Park. She was not sorry to appropriate a 
few worldly little ways from the unknown sphere 


Constance. 


105 


in which M. de Glenne had lived. What joy to 
serve it to him ! She acquitted herself with a tran- 
quil grace seductive to this man, long since fa- 
tigued with the artifices which ordinarily compose 
a great part of the feminine charm. M. Vidal was 
a little bit of the opinion of Catinou, for he had 
once ventured to ask: ^^Of what use is tea when 
we have sage and he resolutely transformed the 
British beverage into a grog by strong rcinforce- 
^ ments of whiskey. After these preliminaries, the 
conversation of the evening before would be con- 
tinued with enthusiasm, while Stany, returning 
to her needlework, scarcely ventured a word, 
though she lost none of theirs. 

Usually the two men confined themselves to 
science, philosophy or history, subjects at once 
elevated and interesting; questioning each other 
upon their mutual researches and discussing them 
generally ; these days awakened in Stany a realiza- 
tion of the great difference between the scepti- 
cism, vague, anxious and suffering as it existed 
with M. de Glenne, and the firm unbelief, without 
anguish which had always so discouraged her with 
her father. She could not think that perhaps 
with M, de Glenne faith would come with happi- 
ness. Had he not said in her presence that when 
a man begins to question his scepticism, he is on 
the verge of believing in everything. ^^He is re- 
turning to the simplicity of the child, which I 
shall soon have attained myself.^^ To this the 
doctor replied with a good-natured disdain: 

^Tf you intend to fall into the gibberish of sen- 
timent and paradox, let us cease our efforts to talk 
reason/^ , 


106 


Constance. 


Ah! How Stany longed to give him a reply 
upon this divine ^^gibberish/^ Involuntarily clasp- 
ing her hands, she thanked God for it. Perhaps 
de Glenne had seen her gesture; perhaps he un- 
derstood that he had offered her one of the greatest 
joys of her life. Occasionally the doctor led the 
conversation upon the subject of Paris; not frivo- 
lous Paris, where Henriette Duranton burned to 
precipitate herself, if only on her wedding tour 
with Horace Capdeveille, but upon artistic Paris, 
where M. de Glenne maintained certain ties and 
which he painted in the most glowing terms. 
Aslant these momentary glimpses there loomed here 
and there entirely personal souvenirs ; he seemed to 
speak of his past now with little effort at secrecy, 
not that he related anything in particular, but 
merely scattered incidents like fragments of a 
mosaic. Stany had succeeded, in spite of the miss- 
ing bits of color, in constructing a fair summary 
of the youth of her hero. He had known no family 
ties^ scarcely recalling his father, while his mother 
had died at his birth. He possessed extensive es- 
tates in Artois left him by his parents, but he 
fled from them now, for they savored of his early 
disillusions, and should he return to them, his 
prominence would entail social obligations for 
which he had little inclination; while the one 
thing he relished in life was the agreeable liberty 
his present incogmito afforded him. 

Of course there is a charm in growing old in the 
place of one^s birth, but he could scarcely appre- 
ciate that, for he had been reared in a Grammar 
School at Paris. His guardian, the Marquis of 
Veroux, a distant relative; had placed him in 


Constance. 


107 


school at an early age, limiting his duty toward 
him to a holiday each Sunday, when he deluged 
him with pleasures suitable to his age. 

Nevertheless M. de Veroux claimed to have 
reared him, which claim was questionable under 
the circumstances. 

During the vacation he received him in his sum- 
mer home, a very sumptuous place, where a fast, 
aristocratic clique reveled from the beginning to 
the end of autumn. There were endless hunt- 
ing parties and private theatricals, and all the 
restless turbulence attendant upon opulence and 
lazy frivolity. The little scholar escaped from the 
black walls of Louis-le-Grand had breathed in 
this ultramondain atmosphere before his beard 
had appeared. Upon his return to school he had 
evoked the memory of what he had seen as so many 
fairy tableaux which had charmed his senses for 
two entire months without appealing to his heart, 
although the condescending coquetry of the pretty 
women in treating him as a cherub was not with- 
out its effect. Doubtless all this was very super- 
ficial, but it sufficed to inspire an indomitable re- 
volt against the penal servitude, as he styled his 
college, in comparison with his somewhat demoral- 
izing vacations. There was clear to him, how- 
ever, in the midst of this fairy land at the Veroux, 
young as he was, the immeasurable blank behind 
the frivolity and pompous ignorance. He seemed 
restless and dissatisfied everywhere except in the 
magnificent library, which was the least sought 
of any portion of the chateau; its accumulated 
treasures of books of all periods rendered it al- 
most priceless. There he had met, in poor com- 


108 


Constance. 


pany, to be sure, those friends who were to accom- 
pany him upon his first excursions into the realms 
of thought and fancy, and who were to cultivate 
the tastes which afterwards were his preservers in 
the wreck of his life. This wrecks what could it 
have been? Stany was always expecting him to 
mention it. One day, in speaking of the trifling 
incidents which often decide one’s destiny or vc^- 
cation, he mentioned his entrance to Saint-Cyr as 
the result of a burning desire to lead a life of 
activity, and partially, too, as a conformity to cer- 
tain family traditions which closed to him sev- 
eral professions he might have preferred. Stany 
scarcely comprehended; she was raised in a part 
of the country where the nobility is limited and 
poor, and there exists little class distinction. 

M. de Glenne touched upon these memories with 
a certain ironical disdain, regretting the years he 
had spent in the service when they might have 
been consecrated to his studies. Momentarily he 
had gloried in his military profession. It was 
in 1870. Had he not already adopted that career, 
he would certainly have enlisted at that hour. 
Alas, the morrow that followed the intoxication 
of his departure and his first battle! His cap- 
tivity in Germany, in a small town to the north- 
ward, where several attempted escapes by the 
French prisoners resulted in a rigorous survey- 
ance for them all and roll-call twice a day. Oh, 
it was horrible! It must have been even worse 
than he depicted it, for after his brief reference to 
it, M. de Glenne sat for some time quietly, while 
his features were shadowed with evidences of men- 
tal suffering. 


Constance. 


109 


The mental sympathy between these two had 
been perfect that evening without the exchange of 
a word. Desdemona loved Othello for the dangers 
he had braved; between them there existed that 
same tender pity from the one and passionate 
gratitude from the other — the eternal charm of a 
tear. 

When and why M. de Glenne had left the army 
was a subject he never touched upon, and still 
less, even indirectly, of the role a woman had 
played in his life. Stany thought constantly of 
the lady with the golden hair. Had he known her 
before or after his long voyages in Egypt, in Al- 
giers, Persia, upon which subject the doctor so 
often led him; for he, too, had traveled, but me- 
thodically, with a fixed purpose, whereas M. de 
Glenne had journeyed much, at times devoid of 
any purpose but that of activity. 

Had the specter that pursued him been the un- 
fortunate love for this blonde woman, of whom 
Stany had caught a passing glimpse? This dan- 
gerous neighbor could not have chosen his ground 
better had his object been the defined one of dis- 
turbing a young heart. These half confidences 
were the fitting compliment to the prestige given 
him by his unconventional arrival and the mys- 
terious events which followed. Had he calculated 
the danger he was distributing? No, not then, but 
later it came like a blow; while he lacked the 
courage to moderate his visits, he saw perfectly 
well that each day, beneath the eyes of this hon- 
est man who received him with every confidence, 
he was stealing some portion of the heart of his 
child. During his solitary hours at the Park, he 


110 


Constance. 


felt the greatest remorse for his actions. Still, 
there was nothing for which he could reproach 
himself. His calls were entirely authorized by the 
doctor, and he had never breathed a word to Con- 
stance which could disturb or annoy her. Did it 
not seem ridiculous fatuity for him to believe she 
cared for him? A man of thirty-six, bearing the 
marks of his sorrow and disappointment, to cap- 
tivate the heart of a child ? Eidiculous ! 

^^It is all at an end with you, poor devil!” he 
would repeat to himself; ^^all at an end!” 

To afford himself a staunch proof, he would 
walk to his glass and critically examine his fea- 
tures. ^Tn love at your age, and looking a hun- 
dred times as old as you are?” But the mirror 
replied that in the past few weeks he had grown 
ten years younger, and he really was still foolish- 
ly juvenile, for he sought a little withered bunch 
of thyme in his portfolio and carried it to his 
lips. 

At the same moment, before her evening prayer 
perhaps, Stany was thinking of those same little 
withered flowers she had cast away, questioning 
herself: ^^Did he really gather them up? Did 
he keep them? How does he treat them? Does 
he carry them about with him?” 

All these childish fancies concerning a man 
whose life had been full of movement, agitation 
and adventure probably, seemed inexpressibly de- 
lightful to her. TJpon this strange existence, or 
rather upon what he had permitted to be known 
of it, Stany leaned as above an abyss. 

shall not go to-morrow,” decided Eaoul de 
Glenne, upon retiring, and the f ollov:ing day found 


Constance. 


Ill 


him upon the road to the Priourat. He ended in 
flat disregard of his decision^ occupying himself 
with Constance more directly than he had done be- 
fore. Haunted by a desire to explore the hidden 
recesses of this pure soul and mind, he coaxed her 
to express to him indirectly all her secret thoughts 
and fancies ; in accomplishing this he had recourse 
to books, reading them aloud to her, an accom- 
plishment in which he excelled. He no longer 
came alone, but accompanied by companions who 
pleaded eloquently for him ; he brought books with 
which Stany was totally unfamiliar; although she 
had read a great deal, it was usually within the 
limited circle her mother had traced for her, 
scarcely reaching beyond the seventeenth century. 

M. de Glenne presented the great writers to her, 
those he called his friends, and which he had 
chosen with great delicacy and discretion from the 
most beautiful chapters of Chateaubriand and the 
marvelous evocations of Michelet, to the light ro- 
mances of Georges Sand. The doctor considered 
reading one of the most agreeable pastimes, and 
listened with one ear while he continued his clas- 
sifications ; the sewing gradually fell from Stany^s 
hands; her habitual reserve was cast oif, as her 
tempter had hoped, and she was now all enthusi- 
asm. Scarcely realizing that she was expressing 
her own views, she gave free rein to her emotions, 
her preferences; she combatted this or that with 
vehemence, evincing more culture and discernment 
than Kaoul de Glenne had ever suspected her of 
possessing; but strongest of all was her profound 
mystic exaltation and passionate asceticism. 
Shakespeare frightened her with his vigorous vi- 


112 


Constance. 


tality, in spite of the sisterly tenderness she felt 
for Imogene and Juliette; she feared his biting 
irony and the philosophic indulgence he accorded 
the earthly passions, as well as his disgust for 
feeble repentance. On the other hand, ^^The New 
Life^^ touched a chord of tenderness which melted 
her into tears. Dante carried her with him com- 
pletely in his one sentence where he says, ^^Bea- 
trice looked to God, and I to her.^^ He summed up 
her idea of love, a divine influence, ennobling and 
generous, emanating from them both, uniting them 
more closely, and drawing them simultaneously 
toward all that was best. She felt that he who 
read these verses to her looked to her as Dante 
had to Beatrice, and vowed that he should never 
see in her aught but the noblest. 

So it was these great poets served as intermedi- 
aries for their first tender thoughts — thoughts 
which one in his hours of scrupulous cowardice 
believed he had successfully pent up, though she 
had already received and cherished them in the 
innermost recesses of her heart. 


Constance. 


113 


CHAPTEE X. 

The latter part of the winter M. de Glenne 
absented himself upon the journey of which he 
had spoken so reluctantly; he pretended to have 
urgent business affairs^ while in reality he sought 
to escape from the delicious torpor and ecstacy 
into which he was sinking deeper and deeper. 
Women have at their disposal various philters, 
and the one Stany had poured for M. de Glenne 
was strong and powerful, for no sooner had he de- 
parted than he began to think of returning. All 
the usual efforts at amusement terminated in bor- 
ing him beyond endurance, and he returned much 
sooner than he had announced, leaving many 
things incomplete, after making the discovery that 
the Park suited him much better than any place 
else. This meant in reality, although he still per- 
sisted in disbelieving it, that his existence was too 
monotonous without Stany. Was she not beauty, 
youth and candor combined? Would not the 
companionship of these qualities be the dearest 
thing in the world to him, while he continued to 
be entirely disinterested in her ? Eaoul de Glenne 
reasoned with himself. What this pretended dis- 
interestedness amounted to he was not long in dis- 
covering, when, upon his return, the indiscretion 
of Henriette acquainted him with the fact that a 
proposal had been made for the hand of Mile. Vi- 
dal, 


114 


Constance. 


The savage desire he felt to strangle this pre- 
tentious untoown and kill Stany at the same time 
rather than that she should belong to another, 
justified the sentiment that existed in the sur- 
rounding country in regard to this quiet, polite 
man, who had implanted a dagger in the breast 
of a pretty woman who had had the assurance to 
visit the Park uninvited, for no reason more mo- 
mentous — poor thing! 

There existed considerable timidity in regard 
to this irascible Parisian. His door was a place 
to be avoided, after the same manner that no one 
spoke ill of him in any but a low tone. Had his 
recent homicidal thoughts been known there would 
indeed have been food for comment. They were 
merely fugitive, however, for almost simultaneous- 
ly with the revolting request of M. Duranton, he 
learned that M. Vidal had objected strenuously, 
alleging the age of his daughter, as well as his 
desire to keep her beside him as long as possible. 
As for the response of Stany, it was not difficult 
to guess after the reception she accorded M. de 
Glenne, happening to meet him unexpectedly; a 
smothered exclamation, a joy but poorly repressed, 
the trembling little hand which he took into his, 
all signified her sentiment.. The doctor alone was 
deceived. Stany was gay and well. Her spiritu- 
ality was developing. She was less bigoted. It 
was quite a natural transformation, a result to be 
expected, for she was scarcely eighteen. 

Nor was the return of springtime without its 
cheering infiuence — a magnificent season in Gas- 
cony, where the sunshine and fiowers dimple the 
hills, while the hedges of eglantine and the white 


Constance. 


115 


daisies glitter like snow over the meadows. The 
perfume of the honeysuckle ladens the air amidst 
the vibrating song of the nightingale; the vine- 
yards are in bud, and the green of the mountains 
(so soon to scorch beneath the ardent suns) for 
the present unrolls like a velvet carpet, whilst 
here and there the flowers and meadows sprinkle 
it with a brilliant dash of color. About Nerac 
the vast charm of the country lies in its coloring, 
the harmonious accord of the earthy browns and 
blue skies, in the pure atmosphere where every 
detail marks itself vividly upon the vision — here 
the tower of some old chateau, there the village 
clock, and now and then a tiny village on the hori- 
zon, like a piece of sculptured stone. 

At the Priourat the time was vastly occupied in 
planning and executing excursions here and there 
for the amusement of Henriette^s flance, who came 
occasionally from Nerac upon a livery horse to 
pay his court to his future bride. The two girls 
mounted the ponies, which served alternately to 
ride or drive as the whim took the doctor. They 
were all rather surprised when M. de Glenne with 
unexpected enthusiasm, offered to join this rather 
juvenile group. 

He pretended to serve them as guide, claiming 
to know the country better than most of the inhabi- 
tants, for he had explored every strip of it during 
his yearns residence. Stany pretended to be con- 
siderably piqued at this, boldly claiming superi- 
ority in that respect, while little friendly quar- 
rels took place daily, in which Henriette intervened 
as arbitrator with comical seriousness. 

At first, M. Horace Capdeveille had feared the 


1 16 Constance. 

mockery and superior airs of this Parisian gen- 
tleman^ but when he had been amply assured that 
his local accent would call forth no smile of criti- 
cism^ and that this high-born person, far from 
perching upon tiresome etiquette from morning 
to night, was extremely affable and clever at put- 
ting people at their ease and assisting them to dis- 
play their best qualities, he came to like him ex- 
tremely, and to imitate him as much as possible, 
with a fervent admiration for his dress, his man- 
ners, and his way of wearing his hair; flattered 
by the apparent good fellowship, he declared him 
to be a fine fellow. M. de Glenne would have 
been amiable with twenty Capdeveilles more exu- 
berant and talkative than this one, upon the condi- 
tion of finding Stany in their midst. He was 
grateful to Henriette’s fiance for leaving them so 
much alone while he paid his attentions to his 
future bride. Two young people whose marriage 
is only delayed by a few weeks, more or less, can 
always find a great many things to confide to each 
other, which in a measure prevents their hearing 
what takes place about them. It so happened that 
no one but Stany heard M. de Glenne the day he 
thanked her effusively and with a certain humili- 
ty for having rescued such a miserable coward by 
pure charity and made him begin really to appre- 
ciate existence. The little picture was framed 
in magnificent surroundings that added strangely 
to the sentiment of his words; they had chosen a 
route in the vicinity of the Pentecote, and the 
thoroughbred of M. de Glenne’s suited his gait to 
the little trot of the ponies; the road was poetic 
and hallowed with religious memories; even our 


Constance. 


117 


little Huguenot couple were drawn toward it in 
silent admiration with a pardon in their sonls 
that it was dedicated to Catholic superstitions. 
From the miraculous spring where the thirst of 
the pilgrim is quenched, to the chapel where a 
rudely chiseled image of the virgin is protected, 
they mounted through a labyrinth of winding 
paths, like a figurative journey to the cross. The 
tall, dark cypress avenues that separate the dif- 
ferent routes are lined with Spanish gorse, like 
bushes of gold that stretch forth their innumera- 
ble arms and load the air with a heavy perfume, 
as of orange flowers, alternating with roses of 
every kind and color, worthy of being culled by 
Saint Elizabeth, the saint of roses. They lie be- 
neath your feet, they hang from the branches 
above your head, in fantastic array, and thus you 
advance from post to post, with now and then a 
loop-hole, from whence stretches far in the distance 
the most glorious and captivating scenes with the 
coloring of a Eaphael. 

M. de Glenne was so struck with the magnifi- 
cence, he cried : 

^^These are the same mystic horizons of Piesole ; 
I feel almost as if I were in the gardens of the 
Capucins — in that garden where I nourished so 
many bitter thoughts.^^ He paused a moment and 
continued: was alone at that time; since then 

there has come into my life an infiuence that has 
annihilated a great deal of hatred and malice. 
What matters it to me now all the evil that has 
been done me?^^ 

It seemed to Stany as if her heart was in her 
mouth, but she found the courage to say: 


118 


Constance. 


blessing upon that influence/^ 

^^Yes, blessed be it/^ he repeated, with fervor. 
^^Your father has well said you are like a rose 
which blossoms and unconsciously radiates its de- 
licious perfumes to all within reach; you are 
blooming beneath my eyes, and in looking at you 
I forget all the wickedness there is in the world; 
you have made me believe in the good, an achieve- 
ment which was very difficult/^ 

^^Have you pardoned the wicked she ventured 
timidly. 

have forgotten them.^^ 

she exclaimed in her joy, ^Tiow glad I 

am P 

^^You are interested enough in me to be glad?^^ 
he questioned in a half whisper. 

have prayed a great deal for you,^^ she an- 
swered gravely. 

She waited for him to add something, she 
scarcely knew what ; but Henriette and her lover, 
who had lingered behind in a discussion of more 
terrestrial things, rejoined them now, and they 
completed the ascent of Calvaire together. This 
Calvaire differed a little from the Gascon Fie- 
sole, for it represented Christ and the two thieves 
built of plaster and colored in a disastrous effort 
at reality. Young Capdeveille, as a good Protest- 
ant, expiated upon the uselessness of these fig- 
ures which with a little exaggeration he qualified 
as scandalous, and Henriette agreed with him, of 
course. M. de Glenne preferred the southern 
crosses with the instruments of the Passion upon 
it, which had the merit of being purely symboli- 
cal; as for Stany, she seemed visibly shocked. 


Constance. 


119 


when, after her rente through the flower-strewn 
paths, she came upon the summit of the hill, face 
to face with these three lugubrious crosses. 

remember,^^ she said, ^Vhat my mother re- 
peated to me so often,^^ that we find a cross at the 
end of whatever we do. A cross and sorrow at 
the end of all things. Is it possible? There 
have been weeks, months, centuries that I have 
not thought of that.^^ 

^Tt is not worth while to think of them,^^ re- 
torted Henriette. ^^Mama tells me all those things, 
too, but I intend to forget them all as soon as I 
am married.^^ 

donT know what cross we could have to 
carry in our household, said Horace. 

^^Oh, as for me, none whatever. But you. Mon- 
sieur, never fear ! You will have my bad temper, 
my giddiness, my poor management, what not? 
My family can tell you the rest.^^ 

still have confidence in you,’^ replied Horace, 
with an honest smile. 

^^And you are right,^^ involuntarily answered M. 
de Glenne. ^^You are beginning right, with every 
chance before you. I wish I might be in your 
place.^^ 

^To marry Henriette questioned Stany light- 
ly; then blushed furiously beneath the long and 
profound look of M. de Glenne, while Henriette 
blushed still more at the shocking proposition; 
young Capdeveille seized the arm of his fiancee 
with feigned inquietude. 

^^DonT talk of Henriette,^^ he said. ^^She is al- 
ready spoken for and canT desert now.^^ 

^^And she has no such intention, replied Mile. 


X 


120 Constance. 

Duranton with amiable frankness, as she poised 
her foot in the hand of her happy attendant and 
bounded a little heavily into the saddle. 

Stany would accept of no assistance, for she 
was accustomed to mounting unaided upon the 
back of Caribin, who was not so very high from 
the ground, having been sold to the doctor, in 
spite of his rare qualities, because of not being 
regulation height. 

^ While Stany was entering with fervor into her 
role of Beatrice (her favorite heroine), with no 
thought of the many insurmountable difficulties 
to be met with in life, the doctor was passing a 
much less agreeable afternoon at quarreling witli 
his brother-in-law. The latter had undertaken to 
prove to him that he was acting very imprudently 
in receiving at his house, daily, the new proprie- 
tor of the Park; every one was talking of the 
persistence of this stranger, and attributing a 
cause very prejudicial to the reputation of a young 
girl ; the gossip had even arrived at Nerac. 

^^You mean that Edelmone has put it into your 
head cried the doctor indignantly. ^^DonT talk 
to me about your Puritans; they can imagine 
wickedness anywhere.^^ 

^^I^either my wife nor any one else has permit- 
ted themselves to say that any evil exists in this 
case, but it has gone too far when people even 
suspect M. de Glenne of doubtful intentions.^^ 
^^Doubtful? There is nothing doubtful or rep- 
rehensible in his intentions; they are as clear as 
day. He likes to converse with the only man in 
the neighborhood who shares his tastes; that is 
what he likes.^^ 


Constance. 


121 


but this man has a daughter/^ 
what next? Do I have to be alone in 
the world before I can receive the visit of a 
friend 

daughter just at the age to please/^ 
proved the contrary the other day when I 
told you Stany was a great deal too young to think 
of marriage/^ 

The pastor laughed. 

fine reason that! Anyway you will admit 
your daughter appeared particularly well pleased.^^ 
^^Because, as a sensible child^ she thinks as her 
father does/^ 

^Dr because most men seem insignificant to 
her in comparison with this paragon.^^ 

^^You confuse her with Henriette/^ 

^^Ah, no ! Henriette was soon over that. A 
touch of reality was sufficient. Stany will dream 
in spite of all^ and she will never renounce the 
ideal she may have chosen.^^ 

^^Who told you she had an ideal 
^^The change in her. She used to limit herself 
to a religious ideal of perfection ; now since a cer- 
tain time she has added love.^^ 

^^What are you singing me?^^ 

am telling you the real truth; — I can read 
a soul.^^ 

^^A soul!^^ The doctor gave vent to his little 
sardonic whistle to signify that he did not be- 
lieve in souls to that extent. Physically Stany 
was developing ; naturally she would be better bal- 
anced. She was still a child, but an intelligent 
one, capable of appreciating serious conversation 
in a measure, and yet fond of such recreation as 


122 Constance. 

she derived from the visits of this friend. As for 
him, he paid little heed to her, beyond the few 
books he had read for her amusement, and the 
authors were such as even the pastor could not 
criticise. 

^‘'Had he been less discreet and reserved^ he 
would have made less progress.’^ 

^^The devil ! What do you mean by progress 
The doctor’s accent became very marked when he 
grew angry. 

^^To succeed in interesting an eighteen-year-old 
imagination which will never be interested in aught 
else after.” 

^^She will certainly be interested in other things 
as well.” 

^^Yes, provided M. de Glenne is a part of it, and 
he will be, probably. Try to think now, even ad- 
mitting that the constant use of your microscope 
has unfitted your eyes for seeing without it, was 
not Stany less happy and gay during the absence 
of this person?” 

^^She was not very well ; she had some fever. I 
gave her a dose of quinine and that settled the 
matter. The absence of M. de Glenne had noth- 
ing to do with the case.” 

^^She hasn’t required any quinine since his re- 
turn.” 

spring fever never lasts any time when it 
is properly attended to.’’ 

^^That is to say, instead of treating it, you are 
cultivating it?” 

‘^The fever?” 

^^ou willfully misconstrue my meaning. This 


Constance. 123 

fever of exaltation, of which M. de Glenne is the 
object/^ 

handsome object to occupy the thoughts of 
a young girl. He has less hair than I have/^ 
^^But it is not grey. A man can be extremely 
dangerous without possessing the locks of Sam- 
son. M. de Glenne has cast a spell over all the 
women he has seen since his advent in Nerac; we 
other men have not the key to these seductive ways. 
I, who admire him in this respect, find him changed 
somewhat. He has a physiognomy that lights up 
at times and makes something more of him than 
merely a handsome man. Look at my future son- 
in-law beside him; he is so far eclipsed that he 
ceases to exist. Oh, I am not speaking entirely 
of his manners and well-bred air, although they 
are very powerful arms with which to combat a 
child like Stany.^^ 

M. Vidal became thoughtful. 

^^You have succeeded in worrying me beyond 
reason; I trust you are satisfied!’^ he burst forth 
with rage. 

am sorry to torment you, but glad to have 
drawn your attention to what I consider a grave 
peril for my niece, unless he is entirely worthy of 
her, and asks her hand in marriage.^^ 

^^ISTo one will ever be worthy of her,^^ retorted 
M. Vidal. was not worthy of Marguerite, but 
she married me. Stany may do likewise some 
day. But,^^ he continued hotly, ^Vho knows but 
this man of whom I have made such great case as 
a friend — ^who knows but he may have those preju- 
dices of rank in spite of appearances? Perhaps 
he will think himself too great a seigneur for us. 


124 


Constance. 


Perhaps he will retreat before this marriage, al^ 
though he likes to pay respectful attentions to 
her which will disturb her peace of mind. The 
devil ! There your pernicious ideas are getting 
the better of me.^^ 

^^All that is what you must probe to the bottom/^ 
said the pastor tranquilly. 

^^You think that very simple, don’t you? I 
know but one way to do it, and if I employ that 
it will probably put an end to a relationship that 
I enjoy; it has made a place for itself in my life — 
the devil take you with your notions. Before I 
take that step I had better find out if I am not 
concentrating my army to give battle to the mill- 
wheels.” 

The means employed by the doctor were very 
simple and also excellent. The following day was 
rainy, so very naturally, when he returned from 
his rounds he betook himself to the kitchen fire 
to dry his boots, and as usual fell into conversa- 
tion with that bag of gossip, Catinou. 

^^Well, Catinou, what is going on?” 

^^Be not much of anything,” and the old woman 
began to laugh between her toothless gums ; a good 
story had occurred to her, which had circulated 
for the first time the evening before. La Pisto- 
lere, she was enciente again. Any news to the 
contrary might have surprised the doctor, for 
during the past nine years he had assisted her 
regularly every season to bring a strapping boy 
into the world — game for the cannon, as Catinou 
philosophically called them — ^but there would al- 
ways be enough of them left to eat what bread 
was furnished. But that was not the question at 


Constance. 


125 


all. This poor Pistolere had permitted herself 
to be duped by a fine story. A tramp had an- 
nounced to her the death of one of her relatives, 
the young wife of Branna, a neighboring work- 
man. The rumor had spread rapidly among the 
friends and relatives, each one taking their turn 
at questioning the pretended messenger; they 
had put him up and fed him here and there to 
hear his lamentable story, wherein there was no 
dearth of detail. He had profited by it all until 
the morning of the funeral he had gotten into the 
cart with le Pistolet (le Pistolet was the husband 
of la Pistolere) and asked that he be dropped at 
a certain point on the route. Of course he ran 
a risk, but a bird in the hand is worth two in the 
bush. No one suspected him of anything, so when 
they reached Branna fully twenty persons or more 
had arrived from as many directions, all draped 
in black, only to be received by the pretended 
corpse. She laughed until her sides were fit to 
burst, but all the same they were obliged to have a 
solemn fete, for the dupes were dying of hunger. 
But the fellow who had brought the news — a rat 
with one hole is easily caught, but this one must 
have had a hundred, with as many lies in them 
all. He was not so stupid, after all, to have him- 
self lodged, fed and driven to where he wanted 
to go. As for those who gave credence to the word 
of a vagabond! — she shrugged her shoulders in- 
differently. 

It seemed to the doctor, who was so preoccupied 
with his own affairs, that this epithet applied after 
a fashion to M. de Glenne. He laughed, how- 
ever at the gasconnade, declaring that this clever 


126 


Constance. 


person must have hailed from Moncrabeau, where 
the lying stone is found, and Catinou, encouraged 
by the attention he accorded her, continued to un- 
wind her ball of gossip. A certain fortune teller 
too often consulted by the giddy-pated girls, had 
been menaced by the gendarmes, and Francou- 
nette had found a new lover, the old one fearing 
the pitchfork too much to return. That was about 
all the news. 

^^And of us here at the Priourat, do they say 
nothing of our affairs questioned the doctor. 

Catinou fixed a little piercing, malicious glance 
upon him; of course he wanted to know if she 
suspected anything herself. She was not too old 
to see plainly. She laughed. 

^^You will be angry, perhaps 
^^Oh, no, what is it?^^ 

'•^^ell, they all ask when the wedding is to be?’^ 

^^hen the wedding is to be 

^^The wedding of Mademoiselle and the Paris- 
ian, naturally ; they have been talking of that for 
a long time. Most every one thought him a little 
old for her, but of course looks go for nothing, 
and doubtless he was as good as he had ever been. 
M. de Glenne was hardly a person to impress the 
southern peasants, being neither broad-shouldered, 
brown nor ruddy, but he was very rich, so it came 
to pass that he did please ; the Gascons are practi- 
cal.^^ 

instruct you to tell those chatterboxes they 
are mistaken; there has never been any question 
of marriage.^^ 

Catinou's face, wrinkled, tanned and cracked like 
old leather, bore an expression of vague incredulity 


Constance. 


127 


and stupor; then she smiled again. ^Trobably/’ 
she thought, ^^for some reason the wedding would 
not take place at once, and the master did not wish 
the affair noised about.^^ She understood. While 
the doctor left the kitchen, slamming the doors 
behind him, Catinou resumed her sweeping, hum- 
ming in a high key that refrain always sung at 
the village weddings. No one could mislead her, 
old Catinou. She knew something of love-mak- 
ing, if it had been long, long ago. 


128 


Constance. 


CHAPTEE XI. 

M. DE Glenne was to dine with the Vidals on 
the day of Saint- Jean. From the Prionrat, the 
view embraces the entire stretch of horizon, which 
after night on the 24th of June is lighted by the 
fires on every hilltop. The origin of these fires 
dates back to Drnidical times, merely transposed 
from the winter to the summer season. The rea- 
son for this is of little importance to the Gascons ; 
they pile their fagots and pine knots into heaps 
and launch the firebrand into the midst of them, 
while they dance around it in wild enthusiasm, 
bounding over the flames, the older ones standing 
with their backs to the blaze to conjure away the 
infirmities of winter. When there is nothing left 
of the fire but cinders these are carefully gathered 
together, and every one takes a piece to deposit 
carefully upon their mantle. If any one is taken 
ill this cinder is brought forth and lighted; it is 
worth more than all the doctors in the country, 
unless, perhaps, it is Doctor Vidal, who never 
takes a cent from his patients. 

The church has consecrated all these antique 
customs, but the devil and his sorcerers lose noth- 
ing by them ; fantastic, lugubrious signs are easily 
wrought in the flickering light of the fires of 
Saint- Jean, and all the legends of the country not 
born of Christmas are reserved for the Saint- Jean. 


Constance. 


129 


^^You will see a pretty sight, new to yon per- 
haps, for I donbt if yon knew of it last year,^^ the 
doctor had said to his neighbor in inviting him to 
dinner informally. The invitation had been given 
some time in advance, before the doctor had re- 
alized that he might be compelled to show the door 
to this friend, so frankly and freqnently feted. 

mnst sift the matter at once,^^ he said, while 
Stany bnsied herself in opening a jar of preserves 
to add to the ordinary menn; one of those jars of 
preserves for which Catinon was famons; then, 
too, was added a jar of pate, scented with the 
dainty odor of trnffe for which Nerac is celebrated. 

In the morning Stany had taken a long journey 
on horseback to gather the mushrooms from under 
the pines, evidently with special attention to the 
gastronomic predilection of M. de Glenne. 

Heretofore this would have appeared entirely 
natural to the doctor, as the most commonplace 
attention upon the part of a careful housekeeper, 
but now it appeared suspicious to him, disposed 
as he was, neither more nor less than his sister-in- 
law Edelmone, to see the wrong side in everything. 
His mind had been poisoned. 

^^How is this ? Ortolans again. Oh, one might 
think we were to dine the king in person,” he cried, 
in a brusque tone that his daughter scarcely com- 
prehended. 

friend is as good as a king,” she responded 

gaily. 

friend — does M. de Glenne deserve that title 
from us? If we choose to call all our neighbors 
friends 

Stany, who with Henriette was spreading the 


130 


Constance. 


table, stopped and looked at her cousin, who 
seemed troubled, and then at her father. With 
his brows knit, his lips drawn and Lis skin dark- 
ened, M. Vidal certainly was either suffering or 
annoyed. She hesitated to speak, and continued 
with the assistance of Henriette, who suddenly 
affected an extreme air of reserve, to spread the 
pretty cloth, all scented with lavender. M. de 
Glenne arrived in good time, bringing with him 
some cherries and strawberries from the Park, but 
they were somewhat coolly received. As for him, 
he was in the best of humors, but this vague influ- 
ence, wordless, readily affects impressionable 
people with a sense of danger, and his 
hilarity was soon dampened. For the first 
time, the conversation at the table lan- 
guished, a peculiar restraint fell upon all 
those present. Henriette even, had little to say; 
perhaps she suspected that her father had been lec- 
turing the doctor, and that the result had been un- 
fortunate; perhaps felt a trifie culpable, too, for 
her senseless chatter may have enlarged the rumor 
which was causing the sacrifice, and she was care- 
ful to lower her eyes and say nothing each time 
Stany^s questioning glance fell upon her. Dur- 
ing dinner she watched the windows constantly for 
the first signs of the festival, to put an end to this 
tiresome feast where every one seemed to be medi- 
tating upon something unforeseen, or to fear an 
uncertainty. 

she cried, suddenly throwing down her 
napkin, ^^there is a fine fire over toward la 
Brousse,^^ and she rushed out, followed by Stany. 

The two men hastily finished their coffee and 


Constance. 131 

then followed out into the road where the darkness 
was already gathering heavily, the heavens pierced 
by myriads of stars, while the earthy fires here and 
there rivaled them in brilliancy. The light of the 
glow worm shone in every herb, while on high the 
constellations looked down curiously upon the ioy- 
ous dance of the flames before la Brousse where a 
dozen black shadows were jumping and gesticulat- 
ing, and the sound of their laughter reached feebly 
even to the Priourat. A second fire, more modest, 
was at la Pistolere’s, with the same round of dia- 
bolical fun, the same wild leaps over the flames 
which burned high and furiously for any awk- 
ward fellow whose limbs might chance within their 
reach. Further up yet at the Branna place, high 
above the rest, burned a fire fed with bales of straw 
whose sparks flew in all directions like the burst 
of a sky rocket. 

The enthusiastic exclamations of the two girls 
and the Parisian burst forth anew at every fresh 
flame upon the horizon. The entire country was 
covered with a cloud of pinkish red which lighted 
up with bursting gusts the intense black of the 
pi^ forest which stood forth in great black masses. 

Their slow walk had led them now to a recently 
mowed plateau where sheep were grazing; owing 
to the heat during the day these animals were 
brought forth to graze during the freshness of the 
night. The shepherd who guarded them was lean- 
ing upon his stick contemplating the fires intently • 
the rising moon, like a great disk of brownish sil- 
lingered upon this lone figure and upon the 
white fiock he tended; they looked like a great 
niass of snow in their uniform whiteness. 


132 


Constance. 


^^There, a picture by Millet/^ said M. de Glenne. 

At the same instant a falling star traversed the 
heavens. 

^^Quick, quick — ^you must wish something/^ said 
Henriette. 

^^My wish is made/^ replied Stany. 

is mine,” said M. de Glenne, ^^if it is fair 
to wish for the impossible.” 

^^Ah, me,” said Henriette, have nothing left 
to ask for.” 

They relapsed into silence, the beauty of the 
surrounding landscape scarcely admitting of more 
than an occasional word. It was such a night as 
one reads of in fairy tales ; to talk of anything else 
would have broken the spell, and they all felt it 
regretfully when the doctor committeed this prof- 
anation by breaking in discordantly. 

^^How silly you are, Stany, to be out here at this 
hour without something on your head. You will 
take cold.” 

^Take cold such a night as this?” 

^^Certainly. I noticed this morning you seemed 
to have a touch of it. You must go in, hurry up, 
run on ahead of us — it is the doctor speaking now. 
You are unusually imprudent.” He had been 
planning this stroke for fully an hour. Stany was 
on the eve of remonstrating that she had no cold 
at all, when Henriette squeezed her arm ominously. 

^^CanT you see that is merely a pretext, he 
wants us out of earshot.” 

^^But why,” questioned Stany, with a singular 
contraction of her heart. 

^^Ah, why,” — Henriette pulled her along rapid- 
ly. ^^Because there are some things which are not 


Constance. 133 

supposed to be said before little girls. They put 
me out of the room the night Horace spoke to 
papa, just as if I did not know all the time 

Stany stopped suddenly, petrified. 

^Well/^ continued Henriette, don^t see any 
reason why M. de Glenne should not want to marry 
you.^^ 

^^Marry ? — me 

In her immaterial dreams Stany had hardly 
thought of marriage. To see Eaoul (she called 
him so to herself) from day to day, to imagine 
that by her mute devotion she was doing him a 
great good, had been the limit of her ambition. 
At first her cousin^s unexpected supposition had 
almost frightened her, but little by little it crept 
into her soul and overwhelmed her with joy. So 
this miserly look of M. Vidahs all evening had 
come of his discontent at separating from her? 
But he had soon put an end to that other proposal 
for her hand; he might treat this one after the 
same fashion. So, in the conversation going on a 
few hundred feet behind her, the question of her 
future was being agitated. After a momentary re- 
flection it looked as if Henriette might be in the 
right. Oh, if it could only be true, she thought 
timidly to herself, scarcely feeling the earth be- 
neath her feet in this sudden transport of joy. 
The night of Saint- Jean had never witnessed a 
miracle equal to this one, nor lighted up so much 
happiness. But why had he said, then, that the 
realization of his wish was impossible? 

One by one, the fires burned low, and the brown 
fields relapsed into their habitual, profound peace, 
with the serene light of the stars shining full upon 


134 


Constance. 


them. No more laughter nor dancing, naught but 
the croak of the frog accompanied the silence of 
the night, as the song of the grasshopper vibrates 
in the sunshine, furnishing their feeble orchestra 
for each hour of the twenty-four. 

Dr. Vidal gave little heed now to these har- 
monies of nature; the delicious prelude of the 
master singer, the nightingale, the last perhaps of 
the season, fell upon heedless ears, so absorbed was 
he in what he had to say. At length he began 
rather incoherently. 

^Tirst of all, my dear sir, I wish you to know 
what it costs me — ^these absurd scruples would 
never have entered my head, but the father of a 
family must heed public opinion, no matter how 
absurd it may be.” Between each word he coughed 
to clear his voice, while his cane struck the bushes 
or whirled away inoffensive pebbles with rage ; evi- 
dently he was vastly tormented. M. de Glenne came 
to his relief in interrupting him. 

^^What you have to say, my dear doctor, permit 
me to guess. A little later, perhaps, I should 
have spoken to you. I have been very wrong not 
to have unburdened myself to you long ago, in a 
circumstance which seemed to command it. I 
have been a coward. You cannot guess the charm 
that lies in the family circle about the hearth, to 
a wanderer such as I have been; to enter such a 
home as yours, and find anew the impression so 
long forgotten, sweeter and more profound — I have 
stolen a happiness that was not intended for me.” 

^^Happiness — ^you exaggerate. If you have 
found any contentment in our home, rest assured 
that you have brought a great deal also, and you 


Constance. 


135 


have stolen nothing^ my friend; we have offered 
you openly the little you prize so highly. Ah, if 

it depended upon me alone 

know you are excellent, and that only proves 
me the blacker. Lack of forethought is a grave 
fault and often entails disastrous results. I have 
learned it again at an age when I have no excuse 
for myself.^^ 

^^Do not reproach yourself, nor shall I ; the sum 
and substance of the whole thing is that the world 
is a stupid place.^^ 

^Tardon me, it is right; no man, it seems, can 
assure himself of being exempt from certain emo- 
tions, no matter how old or how sincere he may be, 
nor how unbelieving. The feelings I thought I 
had conquered and killed have awakened anew in 
me beside this pure and charming child, whose like 
I had never dreamed existed.^^ 

The doctor thrilled with emotion — it was true 
then. In the obscurity his eyes rested upon the 
features of M. de Glenne, but he could read noth- 
ing in the uncertain moonlight, which was still 
pale; he noticed, however, that de Glenne^s voice 
was vibrant and full of feeling, and he realized 
that the emotion of the man who walked beside 
him, was equal to his own. 

pledge you my word,^^ continued M. de 
Glenne with force, can conceive of no felicity 
comparable to that of beginning my life anew 
with her if I were free; I am not, and because of 
that I should have rejected all these vain fancies. 
I should have intrenched myself in my solitary 
house, and remained there. One word would have 
excused my absence to you — but when that word 


136 


Constance. 


is not spoken at the right time, it becomes daily 
more difficult. I feel it strangely to-night, but 
it must be done. You recollect doubtless the ad- 
venture which brought you to the Park one night 
a little over a year ago?^^ 

^^The adventure of that dagger thrusV^ replied 
the doctor, now strangely oppressed in spite of 
himself. 

^^Well, may I ask what your suppositions were 
in regard to that person who came to my house to 
attempt her own life?^^ 

^Tarbleu, I supposed her to be an abandoned 
mistress who chose that little comedy as a way of 
avenging herself.^^ 

have abandoned no one,^’ replied M. de Glenne 
slowly, ^^and the only one of us two who had the 
right to vengeance was I. That woman is my 
wife.^^ 

^^Your wife,^^ stammered the doctor, ^^you 


am married,^^ concluded M. de Glenne with a 
singular accent of irony and bitterness, as if he 
were cruelly mocking himself, ^^and if in speaking 
with you at times of my past, I have never men- 
tioned this episode, it was because it was unfit for 
the ears that generally overheard our conversa- 
tion. There could be nothing less edifying than 
the history of my marriage. Do you wish me to 
give you the details in a few words 

The doctor signified his response in an affirma- 
tive murmur. 

^^Well, the year of our war of ^70, was a terrible 
ordeal for me in that respect. I told you that I 
passed my captivity in a little town in northern 


137 


Constance.' 

Germany. In the midst of all my ennui, disgust 
and revolt during this lamentable period, I was 
unfortunate enough to encounter that which can, 
as you know, reconcile a very young man, ardent 
and foolish as I was, to the most distasteful sur- 
roundings; that is, a woman and a semblance of 
the deepest affection. When you recall that as a 
child I had had no one to love, still less, as a man 
— ^no one — no family ties — I was an easy prey for 
the schemes of a designing woman. If I have 
hated women since it is because at that time I 
loved them too well. I cared for them all without 
caring for any in reality, until my last cursed en- 
counter. The willingness of the German women 
to amuse us prisoners was not limited, I assure 
you, but such banal intrigues, terminating with 
floods of beer, were not very redoubtable ; they were 
simply equivalent to the passing amour of a garri- 
son which the impatiently awaited deliverance 
would have ended in a few hours, but fate re- 
served a more sinister trap for me. You have en- 
countered the look from those blue eyes; it had 
seen less service then and w'as not so bold; it en- 
chanted me from the first. Arriving in the morn- 
ing, we wore our faded dirty uniforms, and 
marched between two rows of curious gaping on- 
lookers, whom we naturally felt an almost uncon- 
trollable desire to strike. Suddenly I heard near 
me a gentle musical voice which said in French, 
^poor fellows,^ with an expression of genuine sym- 
pathy, and looking in the direction from whence it 
came, I saw the same expression depicted upon a 
face that seemed to me more than beautiful. You 
can imagine what she could h-ave been at twenty. 


138 Constance. 

She continued her conversation with a person who 
accompanied her, presumedly a companion and 
added, ‘brave fellows,’ always loud enough to be 
overhead ; then, in German, she added with a kind 
of exaltation which went direct to my heart, ‘I 
adore the French; you may be sure they will have 
revenge some day.’ She was not of German, but 
of Austrian parentage, with the subtle and infinite 
eeduction and the elegant manners of her com- 
patriots. Like myself she hated the little village 
where she had been brought with the family of her 
fiance who was engaged in the war with France. 
I think a great deal of vengeance and hate entered 
into the love with which Mile, de Lebenberg in- 
spired me. To steal from this absent German the 
woman he loved and who was to be his wife, cer- 
tainly augmented the relations so readily es- 
tablished between us. As it happened, the house 
in which I lodged touched the old place in which 
she lived and which belonged to her future father- 
in-law, M. Branbach. We met constantly. I 
knew each time she left the house. I arranged to 
see her at the concert, the theatre, the river; she 
skated beautifully. Such an exercise permitted 
of our meeting. As it happened, it was on the 
ice, thanks to a mishap which she afterwards told 
me was voluntary, that I caught her hand for the 
first time. She chose that the accident should be 
grave enough to necessitate my assisting her to 
where Madame Branbach was, in the tent where 
they served punch and drank wien-grog as they 
warmed themselves beside a charcoal fire. The 
few of us who evinced any inclination to be friend- 
ly, were received in the best society of the place. 


Constance. 


139 


To the most of the men it was repugnant. The 
dispatches which were heralded about the streets 
daily fed the anger of the officers and boiled over 
upon the luckless inhabitant who ventured to be 
polite or hospitable. 

complacently permitted myself to accept the 
invitations offered me by the Branbachs; Freda 
had ensnared me by the perfume of her golden 
hair^ golden at that time and really magnificent. 
A puff of wind and the rapidity with which she 
skated had flaunted the entire mass in my face like 
a provoking kiss, imperious and sweet at the same 
time, and I felt the weight of her entire body upon 
my arm with which I had been compelled to encir- 
cle her to prevent her from falling. That I might 
not suspect her triumphant laugh she had held her 
muff to her face, and I saw only her eyes brilliant 
with malicious satisfaction sparkling above the 
fur. It was impossible to continue in this way. 
I called continuously at the Branbachs, who were 
undoubtedly the heaviest, most uninteresting peo- 
ple in the world ; naturally the only attraction for 
me was this pretty girl, who already, to their mind, 
formed a part of the family upon the strength of 
her engagement, and who, in turn, very prettily 
addressed the old woman of the elaborately fes- 
tooned, elephantine proportions as Miitterchen, 
while this latter evidently had boundless confidence 
in her future daughter-in-law. The girl knew 
well enough how to handle them, to flatter and 
cajole everybody to suit herself. Miitterchen ex- 
plained that all Viennese were like Freda, a trifle 
giddy, like impertinent little kittens, de keckheit; 
but in reality Freda was an angel, a very gay angel, 


140 


Constance. 


to be sure, and one that enjoyed fluttering its 
wings. She was an orphan and would be entirely 
subservient to them, it was that which had de- 
cided Eudolph to marry her. Then too she loved 
him to distraction. How could she help loving 
such a handsome fellow ? 

^^His mother proudly held up for my inspection 
a photograph of Eudolph in the uniform of a 
Hussar, the ^Hussar-to-the-death’ dress. It was 
horrible. He had something so spectral about 
him ; his sinister uniform of somber richness 
seemed to me like the livery of a war ghost, that 
hideous ghost which has mowed down a generation 
of men for us. As I could not kill him, I said to 
myself (by way of excuse for the cowardice of 
accepting the hospitality of his family) that I was 
doing worse still, that no doubt he would much 
prefer death to the misery of having me steal the 
heart of his flancee. There was something piquant 
in my affront to this superb fellow, like an old 
war god dressed in his ballad clothes, looking down 
upon us from his frame that was always wreathed 
in flowers, thanks to the efforts of his mother and 
sisters. Freda swore to me that she had ceased to 
contribute to such sentimental decorations. Of 
course such bellicose and narrow-minded people 
as the Branbachs never dreamed for a moment that 
a man only relatively good looking and bowed be- 
neath the humiliation of defeat, could in any sense 
rival this triumphant, imposing and wreath-be- 
decked hero. She loved me nevertheless, strange 
as it sounds, perhaps urged by her spirit of con- 
tradiction, perhaps by a generous, fleeting instinct 
— I know not what, but she cared for me after her 


Constance. 


141 


fashion. It was an intoxicating, dangerous, over- 
whelming manner that sent my blood boiling in 
spite of all my reasoning. Yes, she felt that ca- 
pricious affection for me which she afterwards felt 
for others, and aroused in me a devilish desire to 
annihilate any rival.^^ 

M. de Glenne ceased, hushed for a moment 
by an uncontrollable emotion, and they con- 
tinued for a few moments in silence. Then he 
went on: ^^She sacrificed everything to me while 
she asked nothing in return — nothing — ^no engage- 
ment. Her sorrow when I left was bravely sup- 
pressed — and therefore all the more touching. 
When I re-entered France I got on very well for a 
time without thinking of her ; my country received 
me joyously, and I could not very well turn my 
thoughts from it; but little by little her absence 
told upon me, and it seemed as if she had bound 
me to her by unbreakable ties, which, magician as 
she was, she could cause to vibrate when she chose. 
I questioned myself constantly as to what could 
have become of her, and I felt the heartiest pangs 
of jealousy at the thought that perhaps she had 
married Eudolph, or remorse that maybe she had 
renounced an elevated rank and fortune for me 
without any recompense. I tried to assuage my 
feelings by paying court to other women, but they 
all suffered in comparison with her; to be brief, 
I found that she had been more to me than a mere 
pleasant acquaintance during my exile. I had ar- 
rived at this conclusion when she unexpectedly 
came to Paris, chaperoned by a very complacent 
old cousin who accompanied her afterwards in nu- 
merous other escapades. She wrote me to come 


142 Constance. 

to her quickly, and when I reached her she hurst 
into a violent fit of laughter at sight of me and 
then fell to weeping; she told me she had decided 
it was impossible for her to marry Branbaeh, that 
she had told him everything, that she had a 
horror of Germany, and adored Prance, which I 
think was true. The pretty refrain which I had 
heard at a never-to-be-forgotten time, was so well 
sung in my ears, that contrary to all advice and to 
my own judgment, I married Freda. 

“I married her with that same transport of en- 
thusiasm which might possess a man dying of 
thirst at the sight of a spring of pure, silvery water 
suddenly springing up within his reach. The 
truth is that after all my struggles I found I 
could not get on without her. Freda had inspired 
me with a passion which partook more of the char- 
acter of a malady than of sentiment, possession 
merely augmented. I was jealous continually; 
the slightest thing excited me violently, while I 
really possessed no confidence in her nor any great 
esteem for her.” 

“But that kind of thing wears itself out,” said 
M. Vidal, shaking his head wisely, like a doctor 
diagnosing a common malady. 

“It lasted as long as she desired ; my will in her 
adroit hands was like so much wax. It lasted 
until another had supplanted me as I supplanted 
Branbaeh. She was carried away with the world 
and luxury; she persuaded me to resign from the 
army that she might live in Paris and maintain a 
grand establishment at Pommereul during the 
summer. I followed her like a fool in all her ex- 
travagances, amused by her indefatigable, childish 


Constance. 14S 

whims ; she was a coquette, but I believed her to be 
entirely innocent of any wrong motives. However, 
I was obliged to lecture her a little upon the chap- 
ter of our expenses, which were entirely beyond my 
ability to maintain. I do not know in what man- 
ner she was reared; for as to what she has told 
me in that respect I can believe nothing, stories 
were too natural to her. Certainly, she had been 
taught no idea of order; at the same time, al- 
though her family belonged to an old and noble 
race, they were not rich and she assuredly could 
not have been taught from her cradle to throw her 
money about regardlessly. It is true that cour- 
tesans excel in that art — and she was in reality 
nothing more. One day it all came home to me 
like a flash of lightning, and I was forced to kill a 
poor chap, an old friend, who doubtless had 
wronged me no more than plenty of others, but 
it fell to his lot flrst to inspire me with more se- 
rious suspicions.^^ 

^Tichtre,^^ said the doctor, in true Gascon dia- 
lect. 

^^Yes,^^ replied de Glenne, killed the man 
in a duel, and the remembrance of it haunts me 
sadly some times. As for the real culprit, she 
succeeded in making me believe she had merely 
acted a little imprudently. Could you believe me 
such a fool? I pardoned and took up my chain 
again. It was not for long, however. The fol- 
lowing year I saw with my own eyes testimony 
I could not doubt — ^that which was to separate us 
forever and cure my passion by disgust. Yes, to 
cure it radically and rapidly, as a steel blade 


144 Constance. 

could have done. I surprised her with the Mar- 
quis de Veroux/^ 

^^How, with your guardian • 

^^With the old man of whom I have spoken to 
you, the one who reared me. No one had blamed 
me for my marriage so much as he. To listen to 
him, I had permitted myself to be taken in the 
net of adventuress; my wife had at first inspired 
him with a violent antipathy. For her part, she 
had ridiculed him cruelly, calling him a sexage- 
narian gallant, with the ugliness of a satyr. Things 
went from bad to worse. She was always heavily 
in debt, and probably some of her caprices were 
for the purpose of silencing her creditors. I told 
her with a scorn that she doubtless understood, 
for she did not lack intelligence, that all was now 
over between us, and as it was out of the question 
to fight a man of sixty-five who had taken the place 
of a father to me, I would limit myself to a simple 
separation. This was readily obtained, for Ma- 
dame de Glenne subscribed to this arrangement 
to avoid a scandal. No one knew exactly what had 
transpired. That is all. She ruined my career, 
she acted upon me after the manner of a dissolv- 
ent; she had caused me to renounce my profes- 
sion. I was nothing more than a grain of 
sand washed hither and thither by the currents. 
Travel quieted me; it is the best tonic — ^new 
scenes, constant change, healthy fatigue, a material 
struggle against certain dangers. You are remod- 
eled after a fashion; you forget that humanity 
which has caused you so much pain, and which, 
after all, counts for so little in the universe. I 
pulled myself together finally, for I had health, 


Constance. 


145 


a considerable fortune, and that independence of 
action which falls to the lot of very few. I con- 
quered my bitterness toward people, and at the 
same time determined upon a strict annihilation 
of any sentimental tendencies in my own make- 
up. I had accomplished this when a taste for lit- 
erary work took possession of me. I began to write 
with a total disregard for the approval of others, 
as I began to renew my life-work again; that is 
the only life left me now — an intellectual one. 

delved into history, where I could choose what 
friends I liked, with the assurance that they at 
least could cherish no malice nor evil intentions 
toward me. Prom the moment I made that de- 
cision I was saved, but of course it is impossible 
to undertake that sort of thing striding about the 
world. To be within reach of a great library drew 
me successively into the largest cities of the con- 
tinent. I hovered about the British Museum and 
our own national archives. No sooner, however, 
had I collected the notes I desired, than I was 
possessed of the idea that I must bury myself in 
some obscure place where I might digest what 
knowledge I had acquired and work uninter- 
ruptedly. That explains my reason for purchas- 
ing the Park. I was tired of roaming about, and 
resolved to settle down in some one place. Un- 
fortunately, the person I least desired to see dis- 
covered my whereabouts, in which attempt she 
had until now been baffled, owing to my constant 
change of scene. She now came to sing me the 
story of a banal repentance: T have suffered, I 
have expiated my sin,^ but such a confession could 
find little response from me^ and; as you know. 


146 


Constance. 


met with a frigid reception ; that it was which de- 
termined her project to attempt suicide — a theat- 
rical falsity, like everything else that emanates 
from her. Since that little comedy, I have heard 
nothing from her, but I wager she is enjoying the 
best of health. Such creatures exist eternally for 
the shame and sorrow of others.^^ 

As for the doctor^ he saw no just reason why 
Madame de Glenne might not continue to exist. 
The story of her husband^s experiences seemed to 
indicate less tenacity of purpose and less equi- 
librium than he could have wished for in the man 
as he thought him to be. He could effectually 
silence all gossiping tongues now, by responding 
to their questions about the wedding: ^^You are 
crazy, my friend ; M. de Glenne is a married man,^^ 
leaving them to suppose that he had known it all 
the time. 

Stany, of course, must know of this surprising 
situation at once, that she might no longer run 
the risk of losing her head — admitting that she 
was in any respect so inclined. A married man! 
What young girl would not retreat before such 
an obstacle as that. Yes, Stany must be enlight- 
ened at once. 

^'My dear sir,^' he said to M. de Glenne, ^^the 
confidence you have shown me touches me very 
deeply, and in nowise alters my sentiments towards 
you. I pity you extremely, but you must look into 
the future cheerfully, and by devoting all your at- 
tention to your work, everything will come out 
right. My prescription would be to work ; continue 
to cherish your contempt and indignation toward 


Constance. 147 

humanity; they are powerful enemies of tender 
sentiments/^ 

^^And cease to make my usual visits to the Pri- 
ourat : that is what you would add^ is it not said 
de Glenne with a bitter smile. 

^‘1 do not say that, but of your own accord, you 
will doubtless come less frequently. You know, 
of course, that my daughter is in entire ignorance 
of any gossip in regard to your calls. How should 
she suspect others of an idea so foreign to her 
thoughts 

M. de Glenne regarded the doctor sadly. 

^^There is little need to mention that; such a 
thought could never come to her. I do myself 
that justice.^^ 

^^You need not misinterpret my words, if you 
please. Stany is very reserved, serious, cold. She 
would be incapable of rushing into an overwhelm- 
ing sentiment from one day to the next, no matter 
who might be the cause ; then she understands, also, 
that a simple little country miss is scarcely suited 
to such a man as yourself.^^ 

^^There, now; you need not ridicule me,^^ inter- 
rupted M. de Glenne vivaciously. 

^^Not at all. We are not of your world. I do 
not say that from humility ; in my eyes one honest 
man is equal to another.^^ 

^^In mine, also. And such a woman as Mile. 
Vidal is superior to any other. 

am very ready to believe that. When a 
treasure has been given us, let us protect it; and 
I seek to protect my daughter. She feels for you 
now nothing more than a sincere friendship, but 
you have just told me that you admire her ex- 


148 


Constance. 


tremely. If she should discover that, who knows 
the result ? At least her serenity and tranquillity 
would be disturbed. It is a father’s duty to pre- 
vent that which is too often the result of proximity 
and habit.’^ 

They had now reached the door of the Priourat. 

^^Good night/^ said M. de Glenne. 

^^Au revoir. I shall visit the Park more fre- 
quently. Will you not come in for a few min- 
utes 

^^Thank you, it is quite late. You will kindly 
make my excuses to the young ladies.” 

Stany and Henriette, seated in the salon, heard 
the gate open. 

^^Here they are,” said Henriette; then, listen- 
ing more intently, she added : ^^Ah, Uncle is alone. 
Strange. He probably has something to say to 
you?y-something important. I will be one too 
many. Good luck, Stany,” and she slipped noise- 
lessly out of the room. 

The doctor seemed surprised to find Stany alone. 

^^Where is Henriette?” 

^^She went upstairs to retire just a moment 
ago.” 

^^Very well. All the better. I have strange 
news to tell you. M. de Glenne and myself have 
had a long conversation as we sauntered home. 
He has thrown some light upon questions that 
have annoyed me for some time. Would you be- 
lieve that original individual had a wife some- 
where? Yes — ^married; he is married.” 

This last phrase of the doctor’s little speech 
produced an effect upon Stany totally unlooked 
for by her father. She arose abruptly, with a half- 


Constance. 


149 


fitifled cry, stretched her hand toward the table 
as if to steady herself, while with the other she 
pressed her heart to still the palpitation that caused 
every drop of blood to leave her face and lips. 
Her eyes closed, and despite her brave efforts, she 
fell fainting in her father^s arms. 


150 


Constance. 


CHAPTER XII. 

When the poor child regained consciousness, she 
was lying upon the sofa, her father bending ten- 
derly over her, holding a cloth saturated with 
vinegar to her nostrils. She felt as if she were 
awakening from a hideous dream. 

^^Well, well; what was the matter with my little 
girl ? A fainting spell ? I told you you were not 
well; that for several days you have not looked 
like your old self.^^ 

He had decided during the few moments he had 
spent in restoring her to consciousness, that he 
would never speak again with her upon the sub- 
ject which had caused her such violent emotion. 

^^It is nothing, father, I am already better, she 
replied, making an effort to recall her strength. 
The blood rushed violently to her face at the 
thought of having permitted any one to suspect 
a secret now so culpable, but M. Vidal was de- 
termined not to suspect it, no matter what the 
cost might entail. 

‘^You are right, my pet,^^ he said; ^^it will 
amount to nothing; a little bromide and a good 
night’s rest, and you will be all right. Your 
father, my dear, is your physician as well, and 
his intention is certainly to prescribe for you as 
he thinks best. Medicine does not signify a great 
deal ; there are numerous cases where a change of 


Constance. 


151 


air is the only radical means of restoring one^s 
waning vitality. Since that little fever yon had 
last spring you have not been entirely yourself. 
You need a change of scene and a little distraction. 
Now you think I am saying that in sport; change 
of occupation is one of the best things in the world 
for one. I have been preparing a little surprise 
for you for some time, which will prove that I 
am not entirely selfish in regard to you. You 
have wanted for a long time to visit your god- 
mother in Paris; well, I am going to let you go. 
Now you are satisfied, I hope. Yes, you shall 
go. We will embrace the opportunity offered by 
the trip Madame Labusquette intends taking next 
week (Madame Labusquette was a relative of Mad- 
dame Duranton). I shall put you in her care. 
Now, does that suit you? I did not wish to tell 
you of it until the last moment, but with such a 
pleasure as that in store for you, you will begin 
feeling better at once. It will never do to arrive 
in Paris with the appearance of an invalid, eh? 
There is no one but your poor papa who will be 
sacrificed this time — and you laugh about it, lit- 
tle ingrate; ah, such are the ways of children.^^ 
The brave old fellow embraced Stany, covering 
her face with kisses, inwardly applauding himself 
upon his little deception, while Stany was in no 
wise deceived, although she felt grateful for it. 
Pretending to believe in an entirely physical in- 
disposition did away at once with any awkward 
explanation; to imagine this method of bringing 
about an absolutely essential separation between 
herself and M. de Glenne was the quintessence of 
affectionate delicacy. She kissed her father with 


152 Constance. 

effusive tenderness, he was so good and thought- 
ful. 

^^Yes, yes; I am glad, so glad ! but you will spoil 
me too mucV^ and her heart felt near to bursting. 

She had so longed for this trip to Paris once. 
Who could have predicted that when it came it 
would be accompanied by so keen a deception and 
such suffering! Stany, frail and delicate, had a 
strong, courageous soul within her. The next 
morning she found the strength to respond to the 
inquiries of Henriette, who came into her room 
early. 

^^Great news, indeed, and unexpected triumph — 
I am to visit my godmother. With affected gaiety 
she collected the gowns and essential accessories 
which went to make up her modest wardrobe, while 
her father explained to her cheerfully that she 
could purchase whatever she pleased in addition 
when she reached Paris. She was valiant and 
courageous to the last, accepting with religious 
resignation a heartrending catastrophe. She 
searched in her soul and saw that this love had al- 
most expelled the devotion she had felt for her 
religion before it came; had almost expelled her 
thoughts of God, her mother and all the lofty as- 
pirations she had felt, and which had at one time 
kept her from ever feeling lonely or unhappy. 
Unfortunately, now that she had eaten of the for- 
bidden fruit; now that this affection had entered 
her heart, she was infinitely more miserable than 
she had ever been before. The blow which had 
felled her down like one dead at the feet of her 
father, revealed to him at the same time the depth 
of a passion which had gradually been gaining 


Constance. 


153 


ground for months. What a supreme test of a 
conscience such as hers ! Her mother had written 
in her blue book that love was to be found in 
heaven, and it was dangerous to entice it to earth. 
She had given her love without knowing it, and 
now she was paying dearly for her few short hours 
of pleasure. She had no regrets, though, nor any 
desire to expel it from her heart ; but it was neces- 
sary that no one should know of it — except, per- 
haps, her godmother. Perhaps this fairy god- 
mother whom she was going to see would console 
her, enlighten her, and tell her what her mother 
might have said to her under the same circum- 
stances. 

Her curiosity in regard to Paris and Madame 
de Latour-Ambert had greatly diminished in com- 
parison to what it had once been. Nothing could 
excite her now. She had tasted of the cup of love 
beside which all else is tepid and insipid. How 
had it all come about? Had she not dreamed it 
while the object of her exaltation was ignorant of 
such an absurd happening! In vain she sought 
any outspoken evidence upon which to base her be- 
lief; there was nothing but his looks, his tone of 
voice in addressing her, the evident necessity he 
felt to see her every day — in fact, a thousand little 
unsayable things. Of what use were words? Eaoul 
had spoken to the doctor that the latter might 
come between, that he might offer a necessary re- 
sistance, an arm against himself. That was an- 
other proof that he loved her, otherwise he would 
not have feared her. Why else would he have 
sought to place this barrier between them ? He felt 
the bitter necessity of doing his duty, and she 


154 


Constance. 


loved him the more for it, only duty should have 
necessitated his having spoken before. Yet his 
hesitation, his weakness appealed to her forcibly. 
He doubtless could not bring himself to it, until, 
the cruel necessity and the last extremity de- 
manded it. 

M. de Glenne did not reappear at the Priourat 
before the hasty departure of Stany for Paris. 
Father and daughter bore up bravely under their 
first ordeal. It was the day before a separation 
to last for how long a time neither knew, that the 
doctor, no longer able to refrain from some little 
word or look, said, as he pressed his daughter 
closely to his heart : 

^Torgive me, my dear one, forgive your father 
for not seeing nor understanding, for so poorly 
protecting you. It has been a terrible punishment 
for me.^^ 

The tears welled up in Stany^s eyes and rolled 
down her cheeks — she who had heretofore looked 
upon life and death so firmly, now so weak. 

^Tapa, dear papa, let us speak only of Paris — 
I shall be there to-morrow. I shall write you 
about it, and when I come home,^^ she added, still 
determined to persist in their little comedy, ^^you 
will see how well I shall be looking.^^ 

She asked with great firmness that the volume 
of Dante belonging to M. de Glenne be returned 
to him. Between the leaves she had pressed a 
little blossom of violet thyme, a voluntary offering 
this time. She marked the passage that had vi- 
brated through so many sorrowing hearts. (There 
is no greater sorrow than to recall in suffering our 
days of happiness). She placed the blossom there,^ 


Constance. 


155 


feeling that she was committing a very bold action. 

If, in reality, Eaoul had preserved the little bou- 
quet she had cast to one side at the Park, he would 
understand this little souvenir ; otherwise, it would 
appear to him in the light of simple coincidence 
and mere nothing. After all, his conclusions mat- 
tered little, for Stany thought she was never to 
see him again. When she returned to the Pri- 
ourat, doubtless he would have left the Park, with 
no intention of returning, not for years, at any 
rate. Everything certainly was at an end. 

During the night, en route for Paris, she cried 
a great deal, hidden by the dark veil she wore 
about her face. Madame Labusquette, however, 
perceived it and felt a kind of pity for her. 

^^How the poor child loves her father, but, 
bah ! childish affection — a few days of amusement 
in Paris she will have forgotten all about it.'’^ 

Perhaps, too, a kind of secret envy slightly en- 
venomed the ideas of this plain, simple woman of 
Nerac at the thought of the aristocratic entree 
into the best circles in Paris, impossible for her, 
but open to Mile. Vidal, whose godmother was a 
baroness, and M. de Latour-Ambert had been am- 
bassador to more than one foreign court. 


156 


Constance. 


CHAPTEE XIII. 

No doubt it is a difficult thing to embody the 
ideal, and live up to the expectations of a young 
enthusiast, who, since she has been capable of 
thinking and reasoning, has thought and dreamed 
of you, endowing you with all possible perfection. 

Madame de Latour-Ambert was the last person 
in the world to come off victorious under such a 
searchlight — at first sight, at least, for she lacked 
that seductive grace and winning manner so 
charming in the eyes of youth. Constance^s first 
impression was one of vague disappointment. She 
knew her physique in a way, from a little water- 
color her mother had made of her in her youth. 
It depicted a very young person, a trifle florid, 
perhaps, but one whose animated expression lent 
to her countenance, if not beauty, at least the im- 
pression of it. She who guided the brush had 
carefully avoided reproducing that sort of harsh- 
ness which comes of frowning, prominent eye- 
brows, and Stany was scarcely physiognomist 
enough to interpret in the signs of her low fore- 
head, narrow lips, of the thin nostrils and general 
haughty expression, that universal dryness of all 
the features of her face. Then, too, at twenty, 
doubtless these characteristics of Marie de Vardes 
were less prominent; they had become more accen- 
tuated with age. 


Constance. 


157 


When she alighted from the train she little 
dreamed that this lady with the powdered hair, 
dressed with severe elegance, who was questioning 
one of the porters with such brief and frigid tones, 
was that Marie who had exerted such a decisive in- 
fluence over the life of her mother. The effect 
she produced upon the daughter was entirely an- 
tagonistic. With the assistance of a tortoise-shell 
lorgnette, she inspected each apartment as it 
opened, stopping short suddenly, as if she had 
sustained a severe shock. Stany heard a smoth- 
ered exclamation: ^^Marguerite Ignoring com- 
pletely Madame Labusquette, who was profuse in 
courteous salutations, she drew Stany to her quick- 
ly, as the living image of that friend of other days, 
of her who had in reality been the one affection 
of her life. They exchanged very few words. 
Stany felt herself almost smothered in an embrace 
that the first aspect of Madame de Latour-Ambert 
had scarcely warranted. Already she was think- 
ing to herself that sometimes very good fairies 
presented the appearance of witches. The only 
counterbalance to this notion was that her god- 
mother was not really old. She was, unfortunately, 
at that ungrateful age when one’s pretensions to 
beauty require the accentuation of goodness; that, 
to be frank, was nowise reflected in the brown, 
be-wrinkled countenance, which the shadow of 
her veil scarcely softened. Peevishness, discon- 
tent and disdain lay in each furrow created by a 
disappointed ambition. After addressing a word 
of thanks to the obliging person who had looked 
after the welfare of her charge during the trip, 
Madame directed the footman, who was standing 


158 Constance. 

near, to attend to Mademoiselle's baggage, while 
she disappeared with Stany like an eagle with its 
prey. After the two were ensconced in Madame^s 
coupe, which took its way rapidly toward the 
upper extremity of the Faubourg Saint-Honor6, 
the Baroness, with a sort of satisfied tenderness in 
her voice, said softly: 

^^At last — at last It was a moment she had 
wished for so long, and now it had come to pass. 
^TTour father,^^ she continued, with a touch of as- 
perity in her voice, ^^your father finally con- 
sented. I had concluded that he intended to make 
excuses for all time, but I, my dear, have such 
great need of you.^^ 

Stany replied that it was more the child who 
felt the need of her godmother; she scarcely flat- 
tered herself that the need could be mutual. , 

^^You talk just as she did,^^ interrupted Madame 
de Latour-Ambert, ^^that same delicate, fresh ac- 
cent, that same soft little laugh, when I used to re- 
proach her for not being sufficiently gay — ^but she 
was taller.^^ 

^^And so beautiful,^^ said Stany. 

^^And you would scarcely be termed homely.^^ 

The pale lips of Madame parted in a kindly 
smile, to which they were little accustomed; her 
small, sharp, pointed teeth had remained very 
white and young beside her faded countenance. 

^^You must not be too modest,^^ she continued; 
^Ve are your debtors; you are doing an act of 
charity in bringing some gaiety and youth into a 
home where everything bespeaks monotony and suf- 
fering. But that would be very tempting to you 
in case you inherit your mothers disposition as 


Constance. 


159 


well as her appearance; nothing bnt entire devo- 
tion to others ever occurred to her. I have never 
met any one else like her.*' 

^^Oh^ my mother was a saint V’ cried Stany. 

^^An amiable one. What a pity she married 
so far away/^ continued Madame, with an egotis- 
tical, inveterate return to herself. 

Doubtless she forgot it was her own marriage 
which had caused Marguerite to return to Nerac. 

^^Your presence, mignonne, will cheer two lonely 
old people,^^ repeated the Baroness, and Stany 
added with a touch of melancholy : 
will do my best.^^ 

She reflected that for the time being she was 
scarcely in a mood to cheer; that she had come 
rather in the hope of receiving advice and succor. 
Her friends seemed, on the contrary, entirely dis- 
posed to lean upon her. The role had simply been 
changed. Besides, the more she looked at her god- 
mother, the more she felt that it would be impos- 
sible to confide everything to her. The carriage 
continued its rapid pace, while within no sound 
broke the hurried rumble of the wheels; then, 
after a while, the Baroness spoke in a half tone 
of authority: 

^^As for you, my child, it is very important that 
you should see something of the world; otherwise, 
you run the risk, with such inexperience as yours, 
of taking a step you would regret always. Mar- 
riage is a very grave problem.^^ 

Stany colored vividly, as she thought that in 
all probability she would never marry. 

^^Most people call it a lottery,^' added Madame 
de Latour-Ambert. ^Tt may be so, but it is far 


160 


Constance. 


better to risk nothing without knowing what you 
are doing/^ She sighed and Stany was not slow 
to understand the reason for it a few minutes later 
when she was presented to the baron. 

He was a decrepid old man, who could lay no 
claim to being venerable. Despite his small figure, 
bent by infirmity, he still maintained what Mile, 
de Vardes had at one time been pleased to term 
his ^^aristocratic bearing.^^ It is a gift accorded 
to very few, and impossible to imitate. Buried as 
he was in his arm-chair and partially paralyzed, 
he still maintained the shadow of it. Unfortu- 
nately, however, that was scarcely a counterbal- 
ance for his extreme irritability and the sarcastic 
seasoning with which he peppered even his least 
significant remarks, the most of which were 
prompted by moody, bad humor. He arose when 
his wife entered the salon where he was dozing, 
announcing Constance Vidal in a high tone, for 
he was quite deaf, but his manner of summing up 
this young person bespoke the satisfied connois- 
seur. 

^^Charming,^^ he mumbled; he spoke indistinct- 
ly, having no teeth, and he kissed her hand, al- 
though her glove still covered it. Stany had never 
been greeted in this fashion before ; in fact, every- 
thing here was new and strange to her, but her in- 
nate refinement served her in good stead, and she 
evinced no surprise, seeking to appreciate and 
assimilate what she saw and heard as best she 
could. 

The apartment occupied by the Latour-Ambert 
household was the first floor of a handsome build- 
ing, looking into a garden on the one side and a 


Constance. 


161 


court upon the other; everything about their flat 
bespoke the fallen dynasty. Like tragic specters, 
the accumulated treasures of this ambassador of 
Napoleon III. grinned and forced themselves 
upon one from every nook. There was the Em- 
peror pictured by Flandrin, with that strange, 
powerful look and fascinating manner ; here sat 
the Empress, surrounded by her ladies in waiting, 
like Calypso in the midst of her nymphs — ^two 
fine copies; there a bust of the little Prince, with 
its sweet, gentle physiognomy, so little reconcila- 
ble with his horrible destiny ; while scattered 
everywhere, upon tables, chairs and stands, were 
photographs and souvenirs of men of merit and 
fortune under the Second Empire. A glass cabinet 
enclosed numerous medals of different orders and 
jeweled tobacco boxes presented to the ambassa- 
dor by different sovereigns. Stany grasped the 
names of those who had participated in our vic- 
tories in Italy and the Crimea. The day of her 
arrival she was presented to a certain marechal, a 
contemporary of all these souvenirs, who seemed 
burdened with a funereal aspect, a kind of burial- 
ground appearance. Her youthful ideas were 
strangely impressed by the solemnity of all these 
relics of a bygone time, not so far distant, either, 
although the present generation disregards them in 
every respect. She remarked several other things 
in the course of this first day. Madame de La- 
tour-Ambert occupied herself incessantly in her 
attentions to her husband. She made herself hoarse 
reading the papers to him, for that, he assured 
Stany,— was his only recreation, although it was 
difficult to comprehend how he could derive much 


162 Constance. 

comfort from a sooree that threw him into such 
violent fits of temper. He would vociferate, ges- 
ticulate, and give vent to all sorts of angry ex- 
pressions which permitted Madame time to take 
breath, when she would continue her task until 
the irascible Baron had fallen to sleep. When 
he awoke, she was ready to accompany him for a 
drive or amuse him at piquet, which game was 
taken up several times a day. Madame de Latour- 
.Ajnbert performed these duties very strictly, du- 
tifully, but there was no feeling in their perform- 
ance; her solicitude was neither spontaneous nor 
tender. She had been so always; very little af- 
fection is offered those incapable of returning it, 
and for this reason the influence she exerted had 
been purely intellectual. How that the brain of 
the Baron had ceased to receive many impressions, 
there could be little congeniality between the two. 
Perhaps their union had never merited the name 
of marriage, such being a frequent occurrence. 

Deprived of everything by the Revolution, which 
had lent him prestige, this poor septuagenarian 
had been reduced, with no saving clause, to the 
rdle of an invalid, while his ambitious wife found 
it difficult to pardon him for having fallen from 
his high estate. 

In the prime of her life she found herself in- 
separably linked to a living corpse ; to sustain her- 
self in these days of trial, she lacked the resources 
of other women, that of reflecting upon hours of 
happiness in the past. Firmly, but not resignedly, 
she lagged the chain that was yet too stout to 
break. Perhaps across the Baron’s clouded brain 


Constance. 


163 


there came secret impressions of the frigid punc- 
tuality with which his wife attended him, and 
perhaps he felt more resentment than gratitude 
toward her. Stany, far too ingenuous to com- 
prehend this drama taking place beneath the sur- 
face of a routine, every-day life, appreciated very 
quickly that her mother had certainly been mis- 
taken in Mile, de Vardes, unless perhaps the 
twenty or twenty-five years of absence had enacted 
one of those prodigious transformations which 
defy recognition. But how could she explain to 
herself that the Baroness seemed so little like her 
letters ? Stany scarcely appreciated that letter writ- 
ing serves a great many women as authorship does 
others, as a mirror wherein they may be reflected, 
not as they really are, but as they should like to 
be, permitting them to dispose of the fantastic 
riches of Aladdin^s cave, bedecking themselves the 
more liberally to counteract the falsity of the 
gems. 

In the evening, when she went to her little room 
which adjoined the boudoir of her godmother, she 
felt one of those paroxysms that a tiny bird buf- 
feted by the storm might feel when it sought refuge 
in a cave to remain captive. Nevertheless the ^^cap- 
tors^^ were anticipating some pleasure for her. 
Madame came and sat on the foot of her bed, 
forming a thousand projects for her to see, with- 
out losing a moment, all there was in Paris worth 
seeing at this season of the year. 

^^What is more,^^ she added with a determined 
nod of her head, shall not allow you to go back 
very soon, now that they have permitted you to 


164 


Constance. 


come. I shall allow myself the illusion of having 
a daughter of my own, a daughter (to intensify 
the pleasure) who resembles my friend.^^ 

She questioned Stany at great length upon all 
she remembered of her mother; at every response 
she repeated: 

^^Yes, that is it — she took everything seriously 
to the end ; happy woman. Poor dear Marguerite ! 
no earthly power could prevent her living in heaven 
and hanging up stars ; real life in her eyes did not 
count for anything. It proves that when we live 
as we should, prompted by Christian motives, our 
souls are more active and beautiful.^^ Once again 
Madame sighed and relapsed into silence. ^^Chil- 
dren — ^to be a mother! that must be heaven it- 
self.^^ 

These last words were pronounced with an ac- 
cent of passion and envy. Changing her tone, she 
questioned Stany in regard to her father, who 
seemed to inspire her with little sympathy; the 
hostility between them was mutual. She asked 
about their surroundings, their occupations, their 
neighbors. Scarcely knowing why, Stany avoided 
mentioning the name M. de Glenne. 

see; no resources — a real little savage,^^ said 
the Baroness, laughing, while her hand gently ca- 
ressed the long brown hair trailing over the pil- 
low. ^^We are going to enjoy ourselves together. 
Your first visit shall be to the dressmaker, the 
second to the Salon, for that closes in a couple of 
days, and to-morrow is the day for the opera. 
You are fond of music, I presume? But if you 
dared tell me what you like best of all after a 


Constance. 165 

night on the cars^ it would doubtless be a good 
sleep/^ 

In fact, Stany^s eyes were already half closed, 
and in a happy dream she was far away from her 
godmother, back near that Park where centered all 
her hopes and fears. 


166 


Constance. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

ViCTORiNE^ Madame’s maid, employed the fol- 
lowing morning so industriously, that even before 
the solemn interview with the dressmaker who 
was to transform this maid of Nerac into a real 
Parisian, she was in some shape to do honor to her 
godmother. 

A few clever touches here and there served to 
eliminate the provincial appearance, as Mile. Vic- 
torine expressed it, and an expression of naive 
pleasure, such as a child with a new doll might 
experience, expressed itself upon the smiling face 
of the Baroness, as she took her way to the 
Champs-Elysees, accompanied by the most beau- 
tiful and charming of god-children. They walked 
to the Palais de ITndustrie, where the Salon was 
about to close, and from the moment they entered 
Stany^s face attracted the attention of all whom 
they met. 

^^Diable said a well-known artist, as he passed 
them, ^^there is the greatest success of the Salon, 
including paintings and sculpture.^^ 

This sincere homage, in its brusque vivacity, 
passed unperceived by Stany, but Madame de La- 
tour-Ambert was as pleased as if it had been di- 
rected to her. She felt herself entirely alive since 
she had taken this beautiful little thing under her. 
charge. They walked about for a long time 


Constance. 


167 


through the almost deserted rooms^ for the Salon, 
now so near its close, had ceased to be an at- 
traction for most people. Stany was quiet, quite 
overcome by the number of pictures, and shocked 
or wounded in her delicate instincts by the bar- 
barous pell-mell of good, bad and indifferent, in 
which, be it said, the bad predominated. 

Madame, scarcely knowing how to interpret her 
silence, said to herself: ^^Has she not the senti- 
ment of beauty? We shall see some day at the 
Louvre; she is evidently only overcome by awe 
here.^^ 

Several times Stany stopped before some sunny 
bright picture that reminded her of the Midi ; she 
also asked the names of several people whose faces 
or manners pleased her. When it chanced to be 
a celebrity, Madame could name them, but she 
assured Stany that women of the world could 
only be known by the initials upon their livery. 
Suddenly Stany, all alertness, approached ^^La Ci- 
maise.^^ The few people who were in this room were 
assembled before a flaming, glaring canvas of Caro- 
lus Duran: a scarlet robe, harmonizing with the 
life-like blonde hair, through which a glint of that 
carmine on her lips seemed to reflect, while a row 
of sparkling white teeth shone like pearls from a 
jewel box. 

The smile upon the lips mockingly raised at one 
corner, was a trifle daring; the eyes humid and 
coquettish, launched an ogling glance at the public 
over one shoulder, all from the shadow of an im- 
mense Gainsborough, laden with a forest of red 
plumes. 

An uproarious portrait, an actress, perhaps ; but 


168 


Constance. 


no, it had her armorial bearings in one comer, 
upon a double escutcheon. 

said Madame de Latonr-Ambert, with a 
disdainful shrug of her shoulders, ^^she not only 
permitted but must have insisted upon parading 
the inscription of her name in full; she loses no 
occasion to flaunt it in the eyes of the public, as it 
is all she has left.^^ 

Turning the leaves of the catalogue she held 
in her hand, she pointed with the tip of her lorgn- 
ette to the words, ^^Countess E. de Glenne,^^ when 
Stany in her surprise uttered a smothered excla- 
mation. 

^^Chut,^^ said her godmother quickly. 

A young man, accompanied by a stylish woman, 
pretty but no longer young, who laughed loud with 
visible affectation, had usurped the space before 
the portrait, while he, with his feet wide apart 
and his cane under his nose, proceeded to criticise 
the picture with the too evident view of flattering 
the model. 

^^Say what you please, it is a calumny. The 
dress — I admit the dress is superb, but he has sac- 
riflced the face. I will never admit that your 
face is a mere accessory to a red gown.^^ 

^^You mocker,^^ she replied purringly, while she 
tapped his Angers lightly with her fan. ^^You 
don^t believe one word you are saying. That lit- 
tle woman is a hundred times prettier than I. 
I wish I could be sure I resembled her even a lit- 
tle.^^ 

The idlers about the apartment turned with 
curiosity to gaze alternately upon the model and 
the portrait — that curiosity which with the ma- 


Constance. 


169 


jority counts for a genuine interest in art. The 
ability to say they have seen a certain opera, or 
the original of a certain portrait, has more merit 
in their eyes than the quality of the music or exe- 
cution. Stany looked, too; the violence of her 
sentiments astonished her. She hated this crea- 
ture who, when he loved her, could not appreciate 
her good fortune ; who in some way had rendered 
herself unworthy of him, and yet stood between 
him and any other affection like the insurmounta- 
ble obstacle she was. Why had he loved her ? What 
could have attracted him to this questionable 
beauty, vulgar in spite of her elegance and woman- 
of-the-world appearance. Stany observed her from 
head to foot, molded in a pretty fawn-colored 
jacket, which immodestly outlined her figure 
in comparison with so many well adjusted toilets, 
while the English collar enveloped an unusually 
long neck, and her golden hair was arranged in a 
massive coil beneath her hat. Her hand, perfect- 
ly gloved, clasped a much beribboned umbrella 
with an alpenstock handle ; in rolling her eyes the 
better to judge of the resemblance, Madame de 
Glenne continued to laugh falsely and without 
motive. Everything she did and said had an air 
of falsity and grimace. The crude daylight 
streaming through the skylights exposed her pow- 
dered skin, the dry contours of her face and the 
outline of the kohl beneath the eyelash to enlarge 
the eyes and add brilliancy to them. Surely that 
flatterer must be making sport of her — no, he 
seemed quite taken, at least he was quite atten- 
tive; he published his good fortune as best he 
could. 


170 


Constance. 


While this woman laughed and coquetted, mak- 
ing capital of a name whose honor she had so poor- 
ly guarded, two sincere hearts suffered through 
her who forced them apart forever. 

^^Mon Dieu/’ said Madame de Latour-Ambert 
^Tiow pale you are. What is the matter 

^^Nothing; I am only tired perhaps,^’ responded 
Stany with much effort. 

^^n that case let us sit down.^^ Madame drew 
her to a seat directly in front of the portrait, and 
having made her sit down, continued to scrutinize 
her closely, as if she would read to the bottom of 
her thoughts. 

^^Something frightened you suddenly. What 
was it?^^ 

Stany felt it useless to tell a falsehood, and, 
more, the occasion was opportune for learning 
something of interest, and she replied with all the 
calmness she could command: 

was surprised to find this Madame de Glenne 
here ; that was all.^^ 

^^How is that? — ^to find her? Do you know 
that person?’^ 

^Dh, only at sight, and by reputation.^^ 

^^It is a reputation such as would rarely be 
spoken of before a young girl.^^ 

^^Ah! All I know is that she came into our 
vicinity once with the project of killing herself, 
an idea which she has long since forgotten, to 
judge by her gaiety this morning.^^ 

^^What is that you are telling me ? What hazard 
ever drew Madame de Glenne into your forsaken 
country 

^^Her husband lives there/^ replied Stany, with 


Constance. 171 

an aplomb which belied the palpitation of her 
heart. 

^^Ah, you did not mention him yesterday in 
speaking of your neighbors.^^ 

must have overlooked him — probably.’^ 

Once more the piercing glance of the Baroness 
sounded the clear eyes of the child she was so de- 
termined to understand in a short time. 

few years ago M. de Glenne was a very hand- 
some man^ very spiritual/^ she said; do not 
know if he is so still.^^ 

^^You know him?^^ Stany asked quickly. 

^^Very slightly. My family was at one time al- 
lied with his. He is the son of a very original 
person and is very original himself. His marriage 
was a great mistake ; it has cost him dearly."^^ 

^^All the blame was upon the side of his wife, 
was it not?^^ 

^^Oh, entirely. She is a base, bad person. He 
should have obliged her to leave France ; but, after 
all, that would be difficult. He preferred to go, 
banishing himself rather than meet her constant- 
ly, for she is everywhere if there is any publicity 
about it — at the theatre, in the Bois, every place ; 
you saw her to-day. All the same, the remedy was 
heroic — to live in Nerac, for you said he lived 
there, did you not?^^ 

^^Not exactly at Nerac — at the Park, very near 
us.^^ 

^^And your father receives him?^^ 

^^Yes, very frequently.^^ 

^^He must have the reputation of a sphinx down 
there, insinuated the baroness. 


172 Constance. 

^^Why, there are many very intelligent men in 
our Midi, I assure you/^ 

^^It is very singular/^ continued Madame, after 
a pause ; ^Very singular you did not mention him 
to me yesterday/^ 

^^But, godmother, I have just arrived here; I 
have many things left to tell you yet/^ 

hope so. Come on, you are better now; you 
frightened me for an instant.^^ 

It seemed to Stany that the portrait in front of 
her was mocking her; the eyes looking over the 
shoulders seemed to say, ^^You got out of that 
very nicely, but everything is not at an end be- 
tween us yet.^^ 

^^Suppose we continue our walk,^^ suggested 
Stany, anxious to get away from the portrait. 

^^Very willingly. We shall not be so warm down 
where the sculpture is; it is smothering here.^^ 
But once in the garden where the air was bet- 
ter, Stany found herself confronted with the same 
offensive vision. Upon a bench at the angle of 
one of the walks sat Madame de Glenne, alone 
now, with the air of a comedienne, who, fatigued 
from her role, profits by the moment when no one 
is watching her, to repose a few moments. Her 
foolish mask had fallen — her face, now that no 
effort at seduction animated it, was drawn and 
careworn; she had aged ten years. ^Terhaps,^^ 
thought Stany, ^^she is very miserable.’^ 

A sentiment of angelic pity slipped into her 
heart for this woman she could only consider in 
the light of an enemy. It was a sentiment she 
might have felt for any one suffering from a cul- 
paMe conscience. 


Constance. 


173 


As they drove home^ Madame de Latonr-Am- 
bert succeeded in fathoming the entire story of 
the tragedy at the Park; she questioned her very 
closely concerning M. de Glenne and ended by 
exclaiming : 

your father decided from one day to the 
next to send you to Paris V’ 

As Stany grevr purple under the cross-examina- 
tion, she added: 

^^Ah, I have no wish to probe too deeply into 
his motives, so long as we profit by them/^ 

But Stany felt vaguely that she had permitted 
her secret to be fathomed within the few short 
hours since her arrival, contrary to all her plans. 
Although her godmother was nearsighted, she 
seemed remarkably observing, but doubtless Ma- 
dame appreciated that such a constant dreaming of 
sad thoughts in one so young was likely to be 
prompted by but one cause ; some little heartache, 
or, worse, some deeper feeling, involved with ob- 
stacles that necessitated the smothering of it. She 
dwelt perse veringly on romantic subjects, dis- 
coursing at length upon marriage, and intimating 
that she would influence M. de Latour-Ambert, 
(who had no near relatives) to treat her as he 
would an adopted daughter, to facilitate the mat- 
ter in a financial way ; in fact, she succeeded, with 
her fine views, in frightening the child, and caus- 
ing her to recede more closely within herself. 

Stany^s gentleness and intelligence gradually 
won her way into the heart of Madame de Latour- 
Ambert, who, before had been stupidly prejudiced 
against provincials, and could in nowise con- 
form to the belief that they were other than nar- 


174 Constance. 

row and ignorant. The Baron, too, was highly- 
pleased with his wife^s protegee, and never so 
satisfied as when she read to him with her clear 
young voice; it seemed as if he had miraculously 
ceased to be deaf when he listened to her. Stay 
was happy in rendering herself useful, and in feel- 
ing that she gave some pleasure; she was not in- 
sensible to the advantages derived from this visit, 
nor to the new scenes and interesting sights to be 
witnessed, but, in spite of herself, she felt the 
languor of disinclination toward it all, with the 
additional pangs of homesickness. Her soul, her 
thoughts constantly returned to the Priourat, and 
that newly awakened emotion, so futile, so ham- 
pered by circumstances, and withal so strong from 
the very force of impossibility. Everything re- 
called M. de Glenne to her thoughts — music, the 
theatre, the conversations she heard, in fact, a 
thousand details in this worldly, intellectual life 
with which she was now thrown in contact. If he 
could only be there, that they might see these 
things together. It seemed to her that she could 
get tenfold pleasure from it then; but nothing 
could ever rival those winter nights around the 
chimney corner at the Priourat. Paris held noth- 
ing one-half so delightful; she would have given 
anything to have lived even one of them over again. 
Alas, for that bygone time of dreams and hopes, 
of innocent pleasures, nothing could recall it now. 
There was little left but to train her soul to the 
sacrifice of duty. 

Her father did not help her in the least ; his let- 
ters often alluded to the neighbor, whom he should 
have refrained from mentioning out of pity to her. 


Constance/ [175 

He seemed to see as much of Mjoi'as evSr and tb"'en- 
joy the visits as much as before. 

How could she reconcile such heedlessness with 
the words of despair and repentance he had poured 
forth to her before her departure? He seemed 
happy and satisfied, and Stany read between the 
lines, can get on very nicely without you, so 
do not worry yourself on my account.^^ Her heart 
quivered that she seemed scarcely missed. How 
long would this exile continue ? When should she 
return? The circle in which she moved daily, 
seemed an inextricable maze. She exaggerated the 
attractions of the brilliant and vivacious women 
who frequented her godmother^s salon. Those 
were the kind of people he was accustomed to; 
how should she interest him? Admitting that he 
had been lonely, and that there were no striking 
comparisons, he may have cared momentarily — 
but it was at an end now. He had forgotten her. 
It was right it should be so. 

But Stany could not forget him. Each stranger 
who was presented to her fell under the disadvan- 
tage of comparison with M. de Glenne. She 
was quick to single out ever so trifling a fault, 
and to acknowledge to herself that no man she 
had met was worthy of comparison with him. 
She had seen, however, the cream of the social 
world, for while Madame declared she was tired 
of social functions, she abstained from giving 
them up ; they enabled her to display her greatest 
talent, that of tactfully drawing people out; she 
excelled in this, and obtained the consequent sat- 
isfaction of gratified vanity. Each afternoon 
about five o^clock her friends were sure 


176 


Constance. 


of finding her not only at home, bnt surrounded 
by the enviable and desirable people ; she possessed 
that art of eliminating the disagreeable, undesira- 
ble element, and of smothering any discordant jar 
that might have spoiled the charm of these in- 
formal gatherings. She was well informed upon 
current subjects; she had read the latest re- 
views and seen the latest things at the theatres; 
she was capable of conversing with any of the 
older diplomats who chose to discuss foreign poli- 
tics, and questioning her literary friends upon 
subjects directly interesting to them ; she was 
able, too, to make conversation where there was 
none ; she was naturally clever, and contact with 
the world had sharpened her wits as keenly as a 
double-edged blade, so that her sallies were gen- 
erally taking and sometimes redoubtable. 

Before one of her friends, Madame de Latour- 
Ambert was humble; she hid her claws, as her 
husband maliciously termed it, before the Abbe 
Eudes, a name Stany had often found repeated 
with veneration upon the little copy-books left her 
by her mother, and written about the time of her 
confirmation in the Catholic faith. 

He was in fact one of the oldest friends of the 
de Vardes family. He never appeared at the five 
o^clock reunions, but very often came in the morn- 
ing to converse with Monsieur, and Madame was 
in the habit of saying : 

^^He will die well — I am sure of it. I am count- 
ing upon the Abbe Eudes to persuade him. He 
has never been hostile, Dieu Merci nor excessively 
incredulous; no, indeed — simply indifferent, like 
many others.^^ 


Constance. 


177 


Notwithstanding the assurance of Madame^ who 
always had some great project in her head, Abbe 
Eudes came simply for the charitable purpose of 
giving a little diversion to the poor old Baron, who 
seemed to welcome him with such pleasure. He 
disliked Madame de Latour-Ambert's dominating 
manner, and his visits were seldom devoid of some 
little check put upon her in a kindly way ; he us- 
ually asked for some money for his poor parish- 
ioners, too, in recalling to both Monsieur and 
Madame that by giving freely in charity they 
earned some pardon for the virtues in which they 
might be lacking. 

This priest was a man of gigantic stature, a 
trifle bent with years, whose hair was white, and 
whose esthetic visage had an air of severity, but 
yet of intelligence and goodness. 

The first time Stany had seen him, Madame had 
led her to him, saying : 

^^Does this child not recall to you something — 
or some one?^^ 

He replied with a piercing glance that seemed to 
penetrate the outward beauty of the youthful 
face and search to the depths of her soul: 

^^She recalls the noblest, purest soul I have ever 
known.^^ 

^^He alludes to your mother, my dear,^^ said the 
Baroness. 

From that instant Stany conceived for him 
who had instructed her mother in the intricacies 
of a new faith, a profound sympathy and respect. 
Whenever his visits were announced she would 
hasten to the salon, a thousand times more inter- 
ested in his grave discourses than in the brilliant 


178 Constance. 

wit of the evenings where so many subjects were 
discussed strange and vagne to her, and in which 
she could find little diversion. It was all differ- 
ent with Abbe Eudes. The Baroness, entirely sub- 
merged in her ambition that her husband should 
die in the bosom of the Church, and seek the fu- 
ture world thoroughly armed with the ^^sacra- 
ment,^^ led the Abbe adroitly upon religious sub- 
jects. Stany^s young life had been so exclusively 
occupied with heavenly themes until a human 
passion had suddenly brought her thoughts to 
earth, that the first eloquent, intelligent priest 
she met served to recall all her old fervor, and she 
sought a refuge in it against all temptation; all 
the grain which was dried up or lost in the soil 
of the Baron’s mind, fell upon well prepared 
ground in the soul of this child. With the sadness 
of a man who realizes that most of the virtues 
of the past exist to-day simply as phantoms deco- 
rated with false names, the Abbe dwelt upon the 
absolute necessity of stemming the tide of careless 
example gliding within every circle. 

^^Bah!” replied M. de Latour-Ambert, whose 
jaded mind was now and then awakened to a show 
of animation by the spirit of contradiction, ^Vith 
all your fine talk, you will never resuscitate the 
apostles and martyrs.” 

^^The apostles — I hope there are some to be 
found among our priests, else their efforts are 
vain mockery. We have occasion each day to bat- 
tle with our conscience or our inclinations, and to 
defy wrong as bravely as they.” 

^^Enemies scarcely to be compared with the lions 
of the pit, nor the pincers of the executioners, 


Constance. 179 

Monsieu FAbbe. Who would give their life for 
their faith to-day 

^^It sometimes happens that one has to give 
more than mere life, mere existence/’ replied the 
Abbe ; ^Ve have no scale for measuring some sac- 
rifices.” 

These words of the good priest dwelt in the 
memory of Constance for a long time; they had 
impressed her, and they marked a firm decision 
in her mind — a decision suggested by the best of 
men. 

^^There is nothing that seems so cowardly, so 
little worthy to me,” continued the priest, ^^as the 
effort some so-called Christians make to obtain 
their salvation at a bargain. I despise and con- 
demn the subterfuges, the compromises with which 
some attempt to still their conscience by mechan- 
ically complying with certain restrictions. In or- 
der that we may feel the true spirit of divinity 
within us, we must have known the baptism of 
suffering, the sacrificing of ourselves for others. 
You may believe me. Monsieur, that baptism is 
equal to the martyrdom of old. As for circumvent- 
ing the law, making it favorable to some cherished 
design of our own, for our worldly interests, it is 
odious; it is equivalent, in my estimation, to re- 
nouncing one’s religion then and there.” 

^^We must come to an understanding upon the 
word ^justice,’ ” said the Baron^ who regained his 
vitality when there was any opportunity for an 
argument. ^^You know very well that the sense of 
a word changes according to our momentary needs. 
It is in the name of ^justice’ that they are over- 


180 Constance. 

throwing everything to-day and turning the world 
into topsy-tnrvydom, bnt they call it reform/^ 

have not contended there were no reforms nec- 
essary/^ 

^^Then you approve of the republican institu- 
tions?^^ 

''Why not? In the matter of government we 
have a very simple arrangement, 'give unto Csesar 
that which is Csesar^s/^^ 

"And obligatory education?’^ 

"That does not appal me, provided that educa- 
tion is undenominational, provided it is not a 
mere synonym for heretical/^ 

"And the pretended rights of women ?’^ 

"What rights ?^^ 

"The rights to diplomas of every sort, baccalau- 
reate included; the right to enter all the profes- 
sions, not excepting the law; the right to vote 
and to have divorce,^^ laughed the Baroness.' "That 
is probably what Monsieur de Latour-Ambert in- 
tends to say/^ 

"Ah, gently, said the Abbe mildly. ^Tjet 
women have equality that will not spoil them. If 
they are in earnest, they know what is necessary 
first; they know what makes good women, good 
wives, good mothers. Here is Mile. Constance, 
who is very cultivated, and she does not shock me. 
As for the professions, eh? We shall be obliged to 
permit them to earn their living, if the money 
hunters will not marry them ; but between a hus- 
band and a profession, none but the women of 
genius will hesitate, and they are very rare, very 
rare, women of genius f 

"You forget the silly ones, who are more nu- 


Constance.' 


181 


merous/^ interrupted Madame de Latour-Ambert 
with that same dry little laugh, which was a warn- 
ing to those who knew her. 

^Toolish women are an inconvenience every- 
where, so let us pass them by. As for voting, I 
imagine even the most ambitious ones will content 
themselves for some time to come with persuading 
their husbands and sons to favor the one in whom 

they are personally interested. As for divorce 

The Abbe halted a moment, then continued 
gravely : 

confess that the law which has recently been 
re-established is a severe blow to the dignity of the 
marriage relation.^^ 

do not agree with you,^^ replied Madame; 
^^so few will care to profit by it. There is always 
a great clamor for certain reforms so long as they 
are considered impossible, and once they have 
come into effect the very ones who have advocated 
them seem anxious to shirk the responsibility of 
them. From the very spirit of contradiction a 
great many women will content themselves with 
their lot, now they have a loop hole if they care 
to employ it. It will be the general opinion that 
the palliation offered is an insult to the dignity 
of marriage, and the usual routine will continue to 
be lived up to by the nobler element; the real 
world will exclude divorces — ^you will see that the 
judicial separation will continue to be the remedy 
as in the past for unfortunate unions.^^ 

^^Sorry remedy,^^ pronounced the Abbe. wish 
the zeal of the reformers might deal with mar- 
riage itself, that it might become what nature and 


182 Constance. 

the Church wished that it should be — ^love blessed 
and honored/* 

^^Ah, that golden age of love in marriage, if it 
ever existed, which I doubt, is farther from us 
than the time of the martyrs,^^ said Monsieur de 
Latour-Ambert, jeeringly. ^^They will find that 
harder to bring back than to marry conditionally 
und break the bonds when they cease to please; 
that is progress, and the Church will end by sus- 
taining it/^ 

^^Stop there. Monsieur le Baron,^^ said the Abbe. 
^^The Church will always declare that those who 
profit by this law are inseparably cut off from her ; 
she will leave them to God who made them, and to 
their triumph over principle.’^ 

^^But you must admit it is rather hard to com- 
pel people who hate one another to remain chained 
together like galley slaves.^^ 

^^Saint Paul foresaw the one fault which per- 
mits the breaking of that chain.^^ 

Stany, who listened attentively, thought that 
M. de Glenne must have taken advantage of his 
legitimate right. 

^^But that is no reason for contracting other 
bonds,^^ continued the Abbe. ^Their liberty 
should suffice.^^ 

^^You dispose of happiness very readily,” cried 
M. de Latour-Ambert. 

^^Are we in this world simply for the happiness 
we are to derive from it ?” 

^Trom the age I have attained, I begin to im- 
agine not,” replied the invalid with a sneer ; 
^^thirty years ago I should have said yes — yes, a 
thousand times.” 


Constance. 183 

^^And I hope thirty years ago you would not 
have approved of divorce 

^^No, probably not^ but I had no reasons for 
approving them. As for the Church/^ he persisted 
in his hardheaded way, ^ Vhy should she not yield ? 
She has given way already.^^ 

^^Ah, through constraint and force — that does 
not count.^^ 

^^She yielded with little pressure to legal separa- 
tions, which amounts to the same thing.^^ 

^^In certain decisive cases.^^ 

^^Eather elastic ones, they say,^^ the Baroness 
cried out in denial. 

^^Ah, Madame, gently ; what do a few cases sig- 
nify? One error, one complaisance proves noth- 
ing, except that wrong may accidentally triumph; 
it gives no reason for building a moral code from 
something radically wrong.^^ 

Discussions of this sort, touching upon religion 
and a religious point of view, were often coming 
up before Stany and giving strength to the deci- 
sion she had made. She had often spoken alone 
with the priest and he had come to see that some 
obstacle lay in the pathway of her happiness, some 
obstacle that nearly trenched upon the ground of 
their frequent discussions, and he had spoken deli- 
cately, without seeming to have guessed her secret, 
of the remedies for such a wound. 

He did not bid her renounce the sentiment that 
lent such depth to those beautiful eyes and shad- 
owed her countenance with sadness, but he pointed 
out the grandeur of that sentiment transported to 
regions where nothing changes, where nothing 
ages, where everything merges in the divine being; 


184 Constance. 

he told her that pure and disinterested love could 
[replace for a soul that baptism of fire which the 
martyrs suffered. Stany came to see herself in a 
beautiful future, with whitened hair^ and eyes in- 
separably fixed upon eternity, while none should 
guess the secret of her solitude. 

It is not^ difficult to understand that in this 
frame of mind she met very coolly certain over- 
tures^ upon the part of her godmother, having the 
definite purpose of retaining her near her in Paris, 
by s, marriage de convenance. 


Constance. 


185 


CHAPTER XV. 

After the season of the Grand Prix, Madame’s 
five o’clock functions were transported to Saint- 
Germain, where a few who were still lingering in 
town sought her salon with persistent regularity. 

Among this number, one young man was par- 
ticularly remarkable for the zeal with which he 
undertook all manner of commissions for the 
ladies, and for the daily regularity of his visits. 

The Baroness repeatedly called Stany’s atten- 
tion to his agreeable manners, and, more, his ex- 
cellent social position; then too, his employment 
in a business which promised certain promotion, 
with an assured residence in Paris was worthy of 
consideration. 

His ^^views” were extremely satisfactory, added 
to which he practised what he preached, which was 
a virtue threatening to become extinct in the male 
species. Stany listened patiently without contra- 
dicting her godmother, although she could but 
feel a little astonishment at the insistence with 
which Madame dwelt upon the merits of M. Julien 
des Eivoires, even to the lesser details of his re- 
ligious convictions. Finally, Madame assumed 
that positive tone she employed in treating of any 
important affair, saying that this young man 
aspired to making Stany his wife. The response 
of the latter was embodied in a gesture of repul- 
sion which left her godmother speechless. 


186 Constance. 

^^Mon dieu! what do you dislike about him?^^ 

^^Nothing/^ 

^Terhaps then you will like him better after a 
little/^ 

^^Oh — ^never 

^^Shall I discourage any further advances 
Absolutely/^ 

^^You will not be likely to find another parti so 
eligible as he/^ said the Baroness, slightly irri- 
tated. 

^^No matter; I have no inclination toward mat- 
rimony.^^ 

^^Which signifies that she loves some one who 
cannot marry her/^ thought Madame de Latour- 
Ambert, recalling several observations she had 
made since Stany^s arrival. She thought it rather 
impertinent and ungrateful that Stany should re- 
fuse to accept such happiness (as Madame under- 
stood happiness) when it was offered her by such a 
far-seeing person as her godmother. As for Mon- 
sieur, the refusal met with his entire approval. 
Nothing called forth such intense pleasure with 
him as a rebuff administered to the ambition of 
certain youthful sprigs; he had been obliged to 
yield place to them as his years increased, but he 
had done it grudgingly. 

There was an opinion, however, in which he 
seconded his wife vehemently ; he protested loudly 
when Dr. Vidal appeared upon the scene as 
commanding officer to reclaim his daughter; the 
doctor felt he could get on without her no longer, 
he said, and besides, Henriette Duranton was re- 
solved not to marry until her cousin should re- 
turn to act as her maid of honor, and it was im- 


Constance. 187 

possible to keep two such ardent lovers waiting in- 
definitely. 

Everything about the doctor was offensive to the 
Latour-Amberts — his freedom of speech, his 
familiar manners, and his southern accent ; he was 
possessed of a certain exuberance of manner or 
humor, and a slight brusqueness, but he was not 
entirely devoid of dignity. 

^^It is extraordinary,^^ thought she who had been 
Marie de Vardes, ^^that Marguerite could marry 
such a man and not die of disappointment. She 
must have idealized this disproportionate union, 
as she did all else; the praises her letters always 
sung of him go to show she never really saw him 
as he is.^^ 

Madame de Latour-Ambert was singularly near- 
sighted in discovering merit where she choose to 
disbelieve in it; she could see no superiority be- 
neath the somewhat uncouth exterior of Dr. 
Vidal, nor perceive what his wife had found lov- 
able in the father of her child. 

As for the doctor, he was thoroughly convers- 
ant with the imperious Marie, for she was the ex- 
act counterpart of the portrait M. Duranton had 
often drawn for him upon the mental canvas ; but 
he felt a kind of generosity toward her, as happy 
people often do toward the misery of their less for- 
tunate brothers and sisters. 

His joy at seeing his child again was immeas- 
urable, — it was only exceeded in intensity by the 
gladness of that child, to whom the separation had 
been a barren exile. 

^^You are dearer than ever,^^ he repeated. 
don^t know what has come over you, or if you 


188 


Constance. 


owe it to your godmother, but you are different — 
you are more as your mother was/^ 

She had, indeed, absorbed a certain refinement, 
a kind of superiority, from the contact with refin- 
ing influences. 

^^To please him,^^ she said to herself, in think- 
of M. de Glenne, must be so.^^ Doubtless 
she would never see him again, but he would al- 
ways be everything to her; she desired to make 
herself worthy, even in her thoughts, by cultivat- 
ing whatever should place her more upon a level 
with him ; he, of course, would never know it, but 
she could only be happy in fulfilling, as nearly as 
might be, what his ideal really was. 

That her father should be so pleased with what 
he chose to term her ^^fine airs’^ was a little as- 
tonishing ; certainly there had been a time when he 
would have been the first to criticise them, but 
there was some puzzling change come over her 
father. 

He had seemed so overcome at the time of her 
departure from the Priourat, and now his joy was 
intense when he was to take her back to scenes 
necessarily full of pain and sorrow to her? 

Perhaps M. de Glenne had left the Park ; 
the thought of it was overwhelming, but there was 
little left to hope except that it might be so. She 
dared probe no further into the mystery. 

The Baroness, whose suspicions had grown apace 
since the refusal of M. des Eivoires, frankly opened 
the subject. While St any was reading to the 
Baron, she led M. Vidal into a corner of the 
dainty garden which formed a part of the Saint- 
Germain establishment. 


Constance. 


189 


^^Doctor/^ she said with the courage of despair, 
husband and I are resolved to do anything to 
defeat the giving up of your little girl. We feel 
the need of her in our solitude and declining 
years.^^ 

^^And how, Madame, would you have me pass 
my declining ones?^^ 

^^There is nothing to prevent your coming to 
Paris.^^ 

^Tardon me, but all my interests, all my work 
keeps me there, and I would scarcely thrive, tran- 
splanted at my age.'’^ 

^^So long as your work is so absorbing you would 
not feel the void caused by Stany^s remaining 
here a little longer. She will console us in the 
first place, and she shall inherit our property as 
a recompense.^^ 

The doctor made his habitual grimace. 

^^The dot I have set aside for her is sufficient ; if 
I gave her none at all, I think she has every chance 
of being happy he said with a peculiar smile. 

^^You do not talk seriously at all, if you will 
permit me to remark. We should love our chil- 
dren sufficiently to provide for their future to the 
very best of our poor ability 

am entirely of your opinion, and while I 
appreciate your kindness, it is because I think as 
you do that I am taking her home.^^ 

^^Very well, bury the little pearl in oblivion, if 
you will have it so ; here her value would have been 
appreciated, she would have had no difficulty in 
making an advantageous marriage.^^ 

^^She will have no difficulty in that respect at 
home.^^ 


190 Constance. 

doubt very much if you can present a candi- 
date as eligible as the one I have in view.^^ 
^^Madame, that is a matter I shall leave to her. 
Have you convinced her yet 
^^Ah, just for the present she seems disin- 
clined 

^^Well 

^ ^^Mind you, sir, I say for the present. You must 
give her time to forget and to consider. In her in- 
terest I wanted to speak to you of that, alone.^^ 

The Baroness had lowered her voice, as if in the 
solitude of the garden any one could overhear her. 

^Tlace a little confidence in the penetration of 
an old woman. She refuses because she has left 
at home some unfortunate inclination that still 
retains her fancy.^^ 

^^Unfortunate — do you think so 

am certain; we are more far-seeing in these 
matters than men. She is foolishly in love with 
one of your neighbors.^^ 
had an inkling of it.^^ 

^^And you know who?^^ 

^There is only one who counts.^^ 

^^And he — is a married man.^^ 

^^Madame, love scoffs at such trifles.” 

^^How ? Monsieur, you are certainly expressing 
some peculiar notions. Where do you expect such 
folly to lead her ?” 

^^My dear Madame, your questions emanate from 
a personal disenchantment. We have all a right to 
our share of the sunshine; and so long as it con- 
tinues, youth will never look beyond it.” 

^^You are her father, and still you reason like 
that?” 


Constance. 191 

^^1 hope to bring you to my way of looking at it, 
later, but it is too early now/^ 

She could not coax beyond that standpoint, and 
from sheer impatience fell to speaking sharply of 
imprudent, selfish affections. 

was protecting her from danger,^^ she de- 
clared, ^^and you are leading her directly to it.^^ 

The doctor declared he was very far from mis- 
interpreting this protection, and thanked her for 
it. 

^^But, Madame,^^ he cried at last, ^fit is asking too 
much for me to make you a present of my daugh- 
ter.^^ 

Later the Baroness had said to her husband, 
hate that man.^^ 

^^My faith, he is equally displeasing to me,^’ 
responded the Baron, with the pouting air of a 
child from whom one takes the toy that amuses 
it. ^^No one will ever read to me as she does; 
now I shall be obliged to fall back upon you again 
— she was agreeable to look upon, too.^^ 

^^This rustic has had more than his share of 
good fortune,^^ continued Madame de Latour- 
Ambert, so absorbed in her complaint that she 
failed to catch the disobliging phrases refiecting 
upon herself — ^^a wife such as poor Marguerite 
was, and a daughter like this one. It is too 
much that he should have had all that.^^ 

She hated the doctor for possessing what she 
had not and she rep-^oached him for lending them 
such a treasure, for xhe mere pleasure of taking 
it away. 

^^Just a month or two longer — I will ask no 
more,^^ she pleaded. 


192 


Constance. 


“Madame, your demands are still beyond me. 
I shall take her to-morrow, with your permis- 
sion/^ 

The Baroness took Stany to one side, and talked 
to her at great length, for ^Tier good,^^ against 
the dangers of her excitable nature, warning her 
that life was not all a romance, and that she 
would retain M. des Kivoires within call until 
she could reflect and consider matters at her lei- 
sure. 

^^That will not be difficult,’^ she said, ^Tor the 
poor fellow would not be discouraged because of 
one failure.^^ 

^^My dear godmother, it is you I love, and it 
shall be for your pleasure alone when I return,” 
said Stany gently, to put an end to the importun- 
ing. 

She was interested merely in a secondary way 
as to the void her absence would cause at the 
Latour-Amberts ; she was far more anxious and 
restless about the surprise awaiting her return, 
for there was a surprise; her father had said so 
with that mysterious air he had affected since 
their reunion. She had not dared question him, 
and they both had talked a great deal more than 
was necessary of the approaching marriage of 
Henriette. 


Constance. 


193 


CHAPTEK XVI, 

As she crossed the threshold of the Priourat, 
she felt her heartaches renewed with the presence 
of old associations. 

To live there now, with no hope of seeing him 
again — ^it would be immeasurable cruelty. In 
Paris the novelty of her surroundings had drawn 
her thoughts from her suffering; there had been 
no souvenirs upon every turn to fix her thoughts 
immovably upon that one subject, but here they 
abounded, as a thousand phantoms, and dwelt 
about her so they drove all slumber from her 
couch the first night of her return. 

She gave herself over to idle conjectures, wish- 
ing, yet fearing, to hear what Catinou could have 
told her at once had she been inclined; her ma- 
licious, wrinkled countenance had been full of it 
from the first. One question would have sufficed 
for the outpouring of the whole affair ; that ques- 
tion Stany had shrunk from asking. 

After a night spent in tossing feverishly upon 
her couch, she had risen with the first glimmer- 
ing of dawn and sought her window, straining 
her eyes toward the Park, as if the first sunbeam 
would bring her a message from there. The si- 
lent coimtry, still sleeping in the dim light, 
seemed burdened with sadness; vague autumnal 
odors, and the scent of the daUias and chrysan- 
themums mounted toward her^ while she leaned 


194 


Constance. 


immovable against the casement, framed in a 
bower of climbing roses, a light shawl protecting 
her from the slight chill of the early morn. 

What was she waiting for ? She hardly knew — 
something. 

The daylight grew apace; she drew back at 
length, shivering, cold, and closed the window 
behind her. It was no longer early, and dressing 
herself, she descended to join her father, who 
was in a great hurry to be off to see if his patients 
had profited by his absence to recover. His ap- 
parently thoughtless gaiety shocked Constance 
a little, and breakfast over, she remounted to her 
room. 

^^Mademoiselle,^^ said Catinou at her door, 
^There is some one to see you below.” 

Someone — how could that be? Some of the 
Durantons? No? — then likely some of her poor 
neighbors. She quietly descended, and entered 
the dining-room, where she habitually received 
these visits. 

^^Mademoiselle,” said Catinou, ^They are in 
Monsieur’s study.” 

She opened the door^ but stood upon the thresh- 
old as one petrified, a half-uttered cry upon her 
lips ; there he sat, Raoul de Glenne, as he had sat 
BO often the winter before, but with a happiness 
upon his countenance she had never seen there 
before. 

^^Stany,” he said as he approached her; his 
voice was low and full of emotion, which gave 
a strange tone to the name by which he addressed 
her now, for the first time. A torpor seemed to 
have taken possession of her; she stood immova- 


Constance. 


195 


ble ; had she sought to flee, it had been the same 
— she was powerless. It must be some mad dream, 
for she had no power to mind nor mend. Eaoul 
had come very close to her; he took her hands^ 
and with tender authority forced her to sit be- 
side him on the divan, while he murmured ten- 
derly : 

^^Dear, dear child, if you but knew how dearly 
I love you.^^ 

She made a hasty movement to free herself from 
him, pale and terrified. 

^^Is it possible,'^ he said, ^^that your father has 
told you nothing 

She shook her head. 

^^It lies with you to make my happiness; that 
we may never be separated; that you will be my 
wife.^^ 

She must be dreaming, for that was an impos- 
sibility, she thought, but she closed her eyes, that 
the dream might not cease, for she dreaded to 
awaken. 

^^Your wife,^^ she said timidly, ^^and the other 
was the questioning glance lifted entreatingly to 
his, ^Vhat is to become of her?^^ 

He understood and said: 

am free — free to give you my name, and to 
love you till my life’s end; if it had not been so, 
you should never have seen me again — I should 
have kept myself from your pathway; I should 
have returned to that solitude to which I thought 
myself inured when we met. Since then such a 
change has come into my life; I was poor, in- 
deed, without it. You have brought me the de- 
sire to be happy. In loving you as I do, I feel 


196 


Constance. 


as if I were obeying a divine command — do you 
understand me, dear ? There are happenings that 
bear such prodigious results — as if they had ema- 
nated from a higher source than the will of man ; 
it must be so — 1 have felt it from the first time 
I saw you in La Garenne — you were in the dis- 
tance, like a beautiful, fugitive shadow of love; 
but now I have that shadow in my grasp — I shall 
not let it escape me/^ He drew her closely to him 
in a transport of joy, and she did not shrink from 
him, while she could scarce comprehend this great 
happiness, almost a miracle. 

^^Tell me, darling, that I was not wrong, the 
day I thought, in such a turbulence of despair 
and joy, that I dared to hope you loved me.^^ 

Again she raised her eyes to his, for she had 
scarcely moved them from the fioor while he spoke 
to her in his tones of entreaty; a tear trembled 
like a diamond upon her long lashes. He brushed 
it away with a kiss, followed by another and then 
another, until the doctor^s return interrupted 
them. He announced himself at some distance 
by singing gaily and calling to Catinou, opening 
several doors with unusual vehemence; in brief, 
did not enter his study until he had allowed am- 
ple time for the re-establishment of a proper de- 
corum. 

^^Well, well,^^ he said, in his most bantering 
tone, ^^do you still regret the candidate your god- 
mother proposed, my little Stany?^^ And as she 
blushingly protested, he continued: ^^You see, they 
were plotting to keep her in Paris, but that would 
neither have suited me nor yourself, I fancy. I 
had considerable trouble to keep myself from tell- 


Constance. 


197 


ing her what awaited her, but I managed it; it 
was so much nicer to let you give her the sur- 
prise. You were surprised^ hein^ Stany? Own 
up.^^ 

So the dream was real. She no longer had to 
fear the awakening, and yet she could not shake 
off the feeling of restraint and foreboding. There 
was a lacking of clear outlines in this sketch of 
destiny. How had the other one disappeared so 
strangely, so a propos, as if some homicidal wish 
had killed her — as if fate had lent wings to a mur- 
derous hate. She felt a vague remorse, although 
she had never consciously given form to an evil 
thought toward that other woman who had crossed 
her pathway, but her conscience was tender and 
she almost believed herself the cause of some hor- 
rible misfortune to another, and that other a 
young woman almost as young as herself. She 
recalled her face as she had seen it a few months 
before at the Salon, suddenly saddened with an 
expression of weary lassitude. What had she 
been thinking of as she sat upon that couch within 
a few feet of Stany? Perhaps some means of 
proving, after all, that she was no comedienne, 
as he had said of her ; perhaps, too, some wish to 
renew the attempt that had terminated so pity- 
fully at the Park the first time. 

Then suddenly the blood ran cold in her veins ; 
it had come to her like a lightning stroke, but 
by its light it seemed to her that her father, and 
Eaoul more than he, were heartless in giving full 
rein to their joy with the shadow of that other 
woman’s life hanging over them like a great pall 
about their happiness, 


198 


Constance. 


But the joy of- this new opening in her life came 
over her again and enveloped all her sentiments. 
What mattered the rest ? She was to be his wife ; 
he had slipped the engagement ring upon her 
finger; he was never to leave her now, never — 
never. And her duty from now until all should 
end for them both was to make him the happiest 
of men. Was it possible duty could be so sweet, 
so tempting, as tempting as forbidden fruit for 
the wicked! Ah, life was so beautiful; how did 
it happen some people were so blind, so wicked 
as to think it other than the most exquisite thing 
in the world? Her very heart was too small to 
hold all the happiness she felt, and it overflowed 
with joy. During the evening she sat beside Eaoul 
with her hand nestling in his, while the lamps 
burned low, and the doctor, coming and going, 
leaving them to their sweet solitude now and 
again; such beautiful words he whispered to her 
that in her excess of felicity she felt that desire 
which comes to tender souls — a desire to sign 
this page of life while it ran so beautifully, and 
to die. She had reached the summit of all happi- 
ness and she feared the descent. 

^^Ah,^^ she said, ^^this day has seemed so beauti- 
ful, so grand, that should it be the only one I 
shall ever know, I must thank God for it.^^ 

^^Every day shall be like it; we have a whole 
host of them stretching before us so far away into 
the future I can see no end to them,^^ said Eaoul 
with youthful tenderness. 

He began to laugh. 

^^To think I was growing into the belief that I 
iwas getting to be an old man.^^ 


Constance. 


m 


Then finally the doctor put an end to their 
beautiful evening, but not without some effort; 
he insisted that after a long trip, careful people, 
with any respect for their health, should seek 
some repose ; but before she retired Stany finished 
the letter she had begun to her godmother, tell- 
ing her of the wonderful surprise that had awaited 
her, and she was so happy, so happy. It seemed as 
if she wrote merely to trace those words ; she lin- 
gered so over them ; it seemed to her those words 
had never looked so beautiful to any one before. 
The day after they had no time for tMe-a-tete ; 
all the Duranton family had hastened over to 
congratulate the future Madame de Glenne. 

told you long ago,^^ cried Henriette, ^^that 
you would end by marrying the Prince.^^ 

Horace Capdeveille, who was upon the eve of 
his own marriage, seemed very proud of the close 
relationship ; the pastor concluded there was 
something really providential in the return of the 
Park into the bosom of the family; he forgot all 
his prejudices against de Glenne; we must show 
mercy to every sinner; the past was past, why re- 
call it ? Madame Duranton even deigned to smile. 
She thought her niece was making a very advan- 
tageous marriage, and did not hesitate to tell her 
so, and read her a lesson at the same time concern- 
ing the duties riches necessarily brought in their 
train. 

^^You will continue to live here, and to let us 
have Stany the same as we have always done?^^ 
asked Henriette. 

^^Certainly,^^ responded M. de Glenne, who had 
his response ready for all these questions he had 


200 Constance. 

foreseen, determined to meet them graciously 
and do as he pleased after. “We will change 
nothing; what is more, the only difference will be 
the reconciliation of a pessimist with his life.” 

He made himself extremely agreeable during 
dinner, entering into a polite discussion with the 
pastor upon Sallust du Bartas, whom the latter, in 
his inextinguishable enthusiasm for Gascon prod- 
nets, placed in advance of Eonsard, calling him 
an inspiration to Tasso and Milton — sustained 
moreover, in this opinion, by Goethe, who had 
called him the king of French poets; the pastor 
was of the opinion that little that was meritori- 
ous could emanate from any source but the Midi. 
M. de Glenne defended Eonsard with just enough 
animation to permit the pastor to win his debate 
with some eclat; he was in the humor to permit 
them to prove to him that night was day, so long 
as he could look opposite him into the beautiful 
face of his little fiancee. Stany responded blush- 
ingly to his tender glances, and all the while her 
thoughts could but revert to that woman whose 
sudden end had permitted them to be what they 
were to one another, without which they should 
still be separated by the insurmountable obstacle 
of a life. This funereal idea had swept about and 
permeated every vestige of pleasure the entire 
evening through, and ended by dominating her 
to such an extent that after the departure of the 
guests she had said to her father, with a burst of 
spirit : 

“I should like you to tell me something of the 
death of Madaiiie do Glenne.” 

“Of her death ?” said the doctor, who was light- 


Constance. 201 

ing his candle preparatory to retiring. ^^Have 
you never spoken with him of the matter 

^^No — that is — barely. He told me he was free^ 
with no other explanation^ and I had not the cour- 
age to confide to him the fear that pursues me so 
constantly. You do not think, papa, do you?— 
you do not think she has killed herself for good 
this time, do you?^^ 

The doctor began to laugh with a slight embar- 
rassment. 

^^Ah, good; if that is what troubles you, reas- 
sure yourself. Those creatures do not kill them- 
selves — la, la, my little innocent. She will have 
consoled herself already, I venture to say; per- 
haps she feels a little chagrin at having to re- 
nounce a name that gave her a certain prestige, 
but that will be more than balanced by the lib- 
erty she has regained. She will find other dupes, 
never worry, but that does not concern us now.^^ 

Stany had grown frightfully pale ; she had tried 
feebly to interrupt the doctor with the same shred 
of a phrase each time, without being able to com- 
plete her thought. 

^^But in that case — in that case 

^^No, my love, be reassured; that venomous beast 
is not dead ; it is simply that a law that has been 
dropped from our code since 1816 has been re- 
established — ^just at the hour when we needed it 
the most.^^ 

Stany could scarcely believe what she heard; it 
was like some frightful nightmare. She recalled 
the decree the Abbe Eudes had pronounced against 
— the divorce law: those who profit by it must 
separate themselves forever from the C Wch, for 


202 Constance. 

the Church would never recognize such a mon- 
strosity. 

“Father,” she said, very low, but with an ex- 
pression of intense reproach, “you should have 
told me that.” 

“Helas; I neither told you that nor anything 
else. I left de Glenne to tell everything. What 
in the world were you talking about all of yester- 
day when I discreetly left you alone so often?” 

She blushed to the roots of her hair. 

“Of everything except the essential.” 

“You think so,” said the doctor, carelessly; 
‘die loves you, you love him— you both love each 
other — that is the essential from my point of 
view. I trust no scruple of bigotry will cause you 
to hesitate now.” 

She had lowered her head and did not respond. 

“Are you going to accuse this unfortunate man 
of a crime because he permitted himself to be 
taken in the net of an adventuress when he was 
too young to have any discernment?” 

“Oh, no, no.” 

“Do you pretend that the inviolability of the 
marriage vows should compel one person to live 
with another they loathe, and who has outraged 
their every sense of honor?” 

“I would not dare to pronounce judgment upon 
so grave a question, but I see no reason why a 
husband should be obliged to keep a wife who has 
failed in all her duties.” 

“Then you can understand why they have sepa- 
rated ?” 

Stany inclined her head in sign of assent. 

“Very well; it is only necessary, now that three 


Constance. 


203 


years have elapsed since they were granted a sepa- 
ration, that it should be changed to absolute di- 
vorce. De Glenne had not availed himself of the 
new law, because he had not thought of marriage, 
but after the little explanation we had together, 
he hastened to obey the necessary formality 

^What explanation?^^ 

^^The explanation that took place just pre- 
vious to your trip, which resembled a flight more 
closely than anything else. That flight gave him 
some suspicions. He came here and begged me 
to tell him if he was in any way the cause of it; 
if he had involuntarily offended you; if he dis- 
pleased you in some way. I was very careful not 
to tell him the truth, but he must have guessed it 
in some way. You do not know with what emo- 
tion he said to me: T am willing to leave this 
country, with one word from her, but she can re- 
tain me here forever also if she choose.^ His frank- 
ness more than pleased me; I was moved, too, a 
good deal by his emotion, and, to be brief, as I 
knew your secret (for why did you faint from 
so clear a motive that evening?). As I was sure 
of your consent, I gave mine when he asked me 
for your hand, as he should do after the divorce 
had been granted. Nothing could be simpler.^^ 

It was horribly simple, certainly; all the com- 
plications lodged in the soul of Stany. Her voice 
would scarcely respond to her effort to speak when 
she finally said: 

^^There has been a misunderstanding — I must 
speak to M. de Glenne to-morrow.^^ 

^^To-morrow? You forget Henriette is to be 
married to-morrow. There will scarcely be time.^^ 


204 


Constance. 


As soon^^as possible, at any rate — ^yes, as soon 
as possible. She made a movement as if she 
would go to her room, but the doctor detained her. 

hasten, Stany. Let us have no childish hesi- 
tancy. I am your father. I can wish for nothing 
but your good. Do not blot out your future for 
a mere foolish whim. You are satisfied, and the 
law IS on your side. It permits you to marry le- 
gally, and raise your family with no tongue of re- 
proach. What does the opinion of an antiquated 
set amount to which persists in pouting over this 
wise move of our legislation which other coun- 
tries have recognized for years?” 

“The world’s opinion is a matter of indiffer- 
ence to me; it is not the world with which we have 
to deal.” 


The one complication that could exist, namely, 
children by the first wife, are fortunately lacking 
m this case. We are fortunately without the 
pale of those coteries that wield such dire influ- 
^ce in the capital, as you saw while you were in 
Pans, no doubt. It hope, Stany, I trust, you are 
not so prejudiced as to consider the marriage at 
the Church the only legal one. Can that be so?” 

I believe it is the only one that signifies, mor- 
ally speaking.” 

“My dear little girl, if you should content your- 
self with that alone, you would never be recog- 
nized as a wife in the eyes of the world.” 

“I should still have the blessing of God. But 
that IS not the question; everybody submits to 
the civil marriage.” 

“And you seem to look upon that very lightly, 
it seems to me.” 


Constance. 


205 


it has its use, no doubt; it regulates the 
civil position as the contract regulates the money 
question/^ 

^^And one’s civil position amounts to something, 
it seems to me,” said the doctor, stroking the cheek 
of his little rebel lightly. ^What difference can 
it make, after all, when you have given your 
heart ?” 

^^God will be lacking for me,” said Stany grave- 

''Dieu! Dieu! Now I see you have been burn- 
ing yourself anew in that fire of intolerance at 
your godmother’s. The most exacting God im- 
aginable can ask nothing more of us than that 
we should be honest and pure in our lives. Do you 
suppose that the blessing of one or more priests 
will make your husband love you the more, or 
live up to his part of the contract with any more 
regularity ?” 

should have confidence in M. de Glenne if he 
should promise me nothing.” 

^^There, that is better.” 

^^But a ceremony in which religion has no part 
is null,” added Stany with persistence. 

curse upon this Baroness, instrument of the 
devil !” cried the doctor with fury. ^^If it had 
not been for her meddling, your mother would 
have remained a Huguenot; you would not be 
seeking the impossible, and the benediction upon 
which you place such a store could have been pro- 
nounced by your Uncle Duranton.” 

^^Does my uncle know about it?” asked Stany 
quickly. 

^^Your uncle does not even know that M. de 


206 


Constance. 


Glenne has ever been married ; I did not consider 
it necessary to take the advice of everybody.” 

^^Mine should have been asked;” said Stany se- 
verely. 

^^Do you mean to say you would have refused 
that which you longed for so clearly; that which 
you still long for more than anything else?” 

^^My father/^ she said, taking a candle in her 
trembling hands, while they both stood talking 
at the foot of the stairs, each in a tremor of agi- 
tation — ^he trembling and red from anger; she 
pale as death — ^^my father, do you suppose 
that my dear mother — who, I feel sure, is looking 
down upon us both as we stand here now — do you 
suppose she would have married you without this 
formality in a religious way?” 

^^The situation was not in the least to be com- 
pared to this one,” replied the doctor, slightly 
embarrasssed. ^^It was nothing to me — but we 
could stand here and discuss until to-morrow and 
come to no agreement. Come, let us go to bed; 
sleep will bring counsel.” 

He kissed her on the forehead, but it seemed 
to him that the poor, pale little head had turned 
involuntarily away, as if. to escape this habitual 
caress; he recalled, suddenly, a similar move- 
ment upon the part of his wife after a painful 
difference they had had about the time of Stany^s 
first communion, and he breathed a deep sigh, 
thinking of the distances this question of faith 
could create between two loving hearts, all in all 
to one another. 

^^The stronger is generally vanquished by the 
weaker,” he thought, ^^for compassion moves them 


Constance. 


207 


to it. But this case is different^ she loves him.^^ 
He laughed a defiant laugh as he got into bed. 
^^Bah! the black robes may say what they please, 
love will conquer this time; poor de Glenne is 
safe.^^ 


208 


Constance. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

M. DE Glenne was to come the next day in his 
carriage and take them to Xerac for the wedding. 
When he beheld Stany he was greatly shocked to 
see the great change a short time had made in her. 
Her face was sad and bore every trace of bitter 
suffering. 

One night of grief had wrought as great a change 
in her as if she had undergone weeks of physical 
pain. The delicate rose of the simple toilet she 
wore in honor of the occasion made her look even 
paler from the contrast; even the contour of her 
face seemed hardened by the great conflict, and 
lent her features a tragic expression; her eyes 
still bore the trace of recent tears; no maid of 
honor ever looked less radiant, or less suited to the 
role in which she was to appepar. 

Grand Dieu! what is the matter?’^ cried de 
Glenne when he saw her. 

She excused her appearance by pleading a vio- 
lent headache, and her father seemed to coincide 
with her. 

^^You must shake that off, my dear, and think 
as little of it as possible,^^ he said. 

The horses sped away with them, trotting rap- 
idly along the highway, beneath a brilliant sun, — 
just such a sun as makes a bride believe the whole 
universe is interested in her personal happiness. 


Constance. 


209 


Henriette was infinitely gracious in her furbe- 
lows of white satin and tulle; her rosy face all 
dimples and smiles beneath the long white veil; 
she was even pretty, and charmingly at ease. 

Every one thought she had never looked so well 
before^ and on the other hand, the remark was 
quite as general that the beautiful Mile. Vidal 
was not pretty at all this morning. She cer- 
tainly had gained nothing, whispered the envious, 
by purchasing her gowns in Paris; on the con- 
trary, she never looked worse. The news of her 
engagement to M. de Glenne was pretty generally 
noised about, and many an envious glance was 
turned upon him. 

^^Just look at Constance, whispered Madame 
Labusquette in the ear of one of her friends; ^^it 
is questionable if it is not bad luck instead of good 
that has fallen from the clouds upon him. I canT 
understand it. He is very rich.^^ 

Stany, however, was following every detail of 
the ceremony with a sad interest. She had never 
assisted at a civil marriage before, and it was, 
as she had imagined it to be, a feeble imitation of 
the religious one, and made but little impression 
upon her ; to assure herself that Henriette thought 
as she did, she spoke to her abruptly as they left 
the town hall. 

^^Now, Madame, here you are irrevocably 
bound; if your husband chose to take you away 
immediately, you could not remonstrate, for he 
is master now.^^ 

should like to see him pretend to such a 
righV^ responded the new Madame Capdeveille; 
^Ve are no more married than we were yesterday. 


210 Constance. 

If Horace should say we were, we would have our 
first quarrel now, without waiting another in- 
stant.” 

Horace, who was weighed down in a heavy new 
black suit, responded to this aggressive sally by 
saying: . 

“Women have no respect whatever for the civil 
code.” But in reality he coincided in the senti- 
ments Henriette had expressed, for he added with- 
out delay, “All the same, it is one step forward; 
but two bonds are better than one. We can’t rely 
entirely upon the first, either in the eyes of the 
world, nor in our own. Hurry up, Henriette, 
that we may the sooner get through with the sec- 
ond.” 

In spite of the bareness of the temple and of 
the simplicity of the Protestant service, all the 
pomp and emotion of the day was reserved for the 
religious ceremony. The jovial and happy face 
of the young bridegroom became serious and grave, 
while tears sprang to the eyes of Henriette dur- 
ing the discourse in which the pastor cautioned 
them to remember God in the midst of their trials 
and their pleasures, to consider their mutual af- 
fection as the means God gave them for purify- 
ing their souls and bringing them nearer to him, 
to look up to Him as the source of this affection. 

The pastor elaborated upon the text taken from 
St. Paul, “We live in God; we act in God, and 
we are of God.” 

He contrasted the horror and emptiness of 
the life of the present century, deprived of the 
infinite, having no other destiny than the satis- 
fying of selfish passions, with that life wherein 


Constance. 


211 


the Christian undertook to bring heaven down 
to this earth ; for, he said, it lies with us to per- 
form this miracle; heaven is localized nowhere, 
it is neither above nor below; it is a state that 
begins in this world for those who are pure in 
heart. Nothing could have been more touching 
than the discourse M. Duranton gave, partaking, 
as it did, of the sermon and paternal benediction 
united. 

St any saw her Uncle Duranton in a different 
light from heretofore; he had appeared so 
often to her burdened with worldly cares, 
which she had always thought submerged 
his sacerdotal dignity, led, as he had been, 
by his wife, and succeeding so poorly in 
conducting his army of children; but the minis- 
ter of the gospel was to be found when necessity 
called, for she had had the proof of it to-day. 
What would he say in regard to her situation? 
thought Stany. ^^Ah, what a privileged person 
Henriette was to be able to walk henceforth be- 
side the husband of her choice, with no importu- 
nate figure to glide between them, mocking and 
menacing, impossible to repulse, like the figure 
Stany always saw so clearly between herself and 
Eaoul, forWdding her to approach him. The 
sacred texts were thundering in her ears, those 
texts wherein a husband is forbidden to separate 
from his wife, and in which it is forbidden to all 
men to put asunder that which God hath joined 
together. By a humiliating association of ideas 
she could but contrast with this young couple 
before her, surrounded, as they were, with friends, 
and burdened with congratulations, another cou- 


212 


Constance. 


pie who lived in the neighborhood of the Priou- 
rat in a scandalous connection, the shame of all 
the village — for the woman had a former husband 
in prison somewhere. She recalled the misera- 
ble lot of the children of these outcasts, mis- 
treated, insulted, burdened with wretched names 
by the other pupils in the school. ^^What differ- 
ence,^^ she asked herself, ^^would God make be- 
tween these people and herself She felt a piti- 
less voice respond ^^none,’' except the sanction of 
lax laws invented by men, a cowardly complai- 
sance for which the world has been cursed — that 
is all the difference there would be between them ; 
that is all the advantage she wauld have, if, in- 
deed, it were an advantage, for the shame and 
public censure were really beneficial; they helped 
to expiate the fault. 

^^Never,^^ she murmured to herself, as she knelt 
for a last prayer, in which she fervently prayed 
for the strength to pass by this temptation, and 
to be worthy of that God who so cruelly lighted 
the path before her. 

The mirage had vanished; one brutal word had 
dissipated it, and that word had come from her 
father. 

^^You seem to be suffering more intensely every 
moment,’^ said Eaoul, as they walked side by side 
to M. Duranton’s home. ^'You are making too 
brave an effort. You will pay for it later. Must 
you really expose yourself to the long wedding 
breakfast 

^^No ; my aunt suggested that I go to her room, 
to rest, and I accepted,^^ she replied briefiy. ^^Lis- 
ten; as soon as the opportunity presents itself. 


Constance. 


213 


you must hurry away ; you must some one 

rejoined them, and Constance added hurriedly: 
^^Come to La Garenne, to the fountain Saint-Jean 
— they have promised to leave me quiet, and I will 
he there/^ 

He replied by an inclination of his head, 
tempted by the rendezvous, and troubled by the 
manner in which she had given it — so briefly, 
without a smile, and accompanied by an imperious 
glance. 

Everything at the Duranton home was gracious- 
ly bedecked — that home usually so foreign to lit- 
tle feminine coquetry, or even to a symmetrical 
arrangement; garlands of myrtle and box fes- 
tooned the walls of the dining room, partiallly 
hiding the dilapidated state of the papering; a 
bountiful menu did honor to the combined ef- 
forts of several cordons-bleu^ called upon in 
honor of the occasion. Th inimitable pastries, 
pies and fat spring chickens were washed down 
with an old wine that loosened every tongue, and 
the conversation was already general, and only 
those gained a listener who had the ablest vocal 
organs. Amid the prevailing mirth, the pastor 
returning to a bygone custom, in imitation of the 
prowess of his dear du Bartas, who, upon the oc- 
casion of the solemn entrance of Marguerite into 
Nerac, had caused three nymphs to address her 
in three different tongues — Latin, French and 
Gasconne. 

He pronounced a triple epithalame, a trifle 
long, perhaps, but applauded to the echo. The 
health of the bride and groom was now offered in 
prose and verse. 


214 Constance. 

M. de Glenne tried valiantly to enter into the 
general gaiety; the doctor made no effort what- 
ever; he was somber and preoccupied; his long 
face was ascribed to the illness of Constance. At 
the beginning every one had loudly lamented the 
absence of the maid of honor, obliged from in- 
disposition to withdraw from the festivities of a 
wedding day. The first course had passed with 
this accompaniment, but as it was, after all, a sec- 
ondary incident, lost sight of in the general hi- 
larity which followed, Raoul found it an easy 
matter to slip away before the coffee had been 
served. He asked the doctor, in a rapid conversa- 
tion, to say that he had been called home upon 
an urgent affair, and to explain to these people, 
who were already a little under the influence of 
the wine, that it was the style in Paris, no one 
knew why, to slip away a TAnglaise. 

La Garenne was less frequented than usual, and 
for almost an hour Constance had been reposing 
beneath the trees that sheltered the fountain 
Saint-Jean, while every one thought her lying 
above stairs upon the bed of her aunt. She had 
thrown a dust cloak over her light costume, and 
it covered her so completely as to shield her from 
any curious observation. Of what had she been 
thinking all this time, her eyes turned upon the 
Raise dreamily, listening to the faint sound of 
the running water? Perhaps of those tragic 
amours which terminate in death, as had those 
of Fleurette, the rustic Ophelia, drowned within 
two steps of where she sat ; certainly she dreamed 
a great deal of her own history, begun in this 
very spot the day she had dubbed ^impertinent 


Constance, 


215 


that first glance Eaoul had bestowed upon her. 
It was a different season then, and the red and 
yellow leaves that hung so lightly upon the tops 
of the oaks and willows had barely begun to bud, 
and the nightingale of those days was dead long 
ago — long ago, for it had been two years since 
that first encounter in the month of April. Could 
it be possible ? How short those eighteeen months 
had been, yet filled with such gladness that they 
seemed like a lifetime to her, and it was a life- 
time of love; it had enveloped her completely, 
and now she had fallen from her heaven and could 
never enter again. 

A gust of wind shook the branches above her 
head, and the bright autumn leaves fell about 
her and swirled away toward the end of the ave- 
nue. Where were they flying, those fugitives? 
They knew no more than she, and she was as help- 
less as they to direct her destiny, without Eaoul. 
Alas, it seemed too bitter; and then she recalled 
her words one beautiful, happy day, when the 
strange desire to stop the hands of time, and die 
before she should be less happy. If that day was 
to be the happiest day she was ever to know, she 
should still thank God for it. What foolish words ! 
What would she give never to have known such 
happiness, only to see it vanish, never to return 1 
Had the ability to choose been given her, she 
scarcely knew what her choice would have been; 
her thoughts were so random now; she felt them 
surging about her like the leaves without the 
power to interfere with them. Some one passed 
behind the bench upon which she was seated, a 
hand was laid upon her shoulder; she turned 


216 


Constance. 


with a shudder. She encountered the eyes of 
Eaoul, filled with desolation and fear. 

implore you not to recall the promise you 
have given me — it would be too cruel^ too grave. 
I cannot say what the consequences might be.^^ 

A sudden spirit of bravery passed over her, 
and she replied with a touch of indignation, 
though her voice was low and hardly firm: 

gave myself to a man who pretended to be 

free.^^ 

^^Listen, Stany ; I can bear anything rather than 
this accusation of having willingly deceived you,^^ 
and he seated himself upon the bench beside her. 

have acted loyally. I told your father of my 
secret, of my past life, that he might know the 
kind of man he was receiving beneath his roof — 
that he might tell you of it. I had no other 
thoughts. This new divorce law awakened no 
hopes within me ; part of my life — the part where 
I mingled with the world — ^was passed amid a 
coterie where the change in the statue will make 
no difference; that is to say, amid people who 
cling to the religious forms, while they pay little 
attention to it beyond the mere appearance. I 
had some of that feeling left within me still, I 
think, for the thought of profiting by the new law 
to prevent that woman from bearing my name 
and flaunting it to the four winds really never 
occurred to me. Your father, seeing the bitter 
effect your departure had had upon me, and know- 
ing that Eaoul hesitated. 

^^Yes,^^ said Constance, was a traitor to my- 
self.^^ 

Eaoul took her hand that lay beside him and 


Constance. 217 

raised it to his lips. She continued without no- 
ticing this caress: 

^^Then it was my father who suggested 

saw my suffering and had pity upon 


^^He pitied me, too, poor father. He did not 
stop at the barrier which meant nothing to him; 
he would even have felt a secret satisfaction at 
having me ignore it, too. But you — how could 
you forget that I am a Catholic? You are one, 
too. ^^Ah, yes,^^ she hastened to say, upon a ges- 
ture from him, half negative in spirit, ^^you are 
one in name only; but at least you have been a 
soldier — how do you look upon a deserter 

shall never believe that any just law can 
restrain two people who love as sincerely as we, 
who have no duties to any one but ourselves, from 
a marriage that would make the happiness of them 
both.^^ 

^^Duty toward no one?^^ 

^^It has been ten years since the woman I have 
a horror of mentioning before you ceased to exist 
for me. My marriage with her was a culpable 
fault. The only real marriage seems to me to 
mean the union of two hearts. God would bless 
such a union, Stany, if there were no temple or 
priest to bless it. jDo not belittle the goodness 
and mercy of God.^^ 

She listened to him tremblingly. What if his 
sophisms were really right and the education she 
had received went for nothing? He was so su- 
perior to her in every respect. 

^^You seem to care very little for the exterior 
forms of religion, she said. 


218 


Constance. 


“Very little. What little is worthy of the at- 
tention of God, provided Providence occupies 
itself with us at all, is what takes place in the 

depths of our souls. As for the rest 

Then suddenly it seemed to Stany that the 
Abbe Eudes was standing beside her, and she re- 
called a few words he had spoken once in her pres-^ 
ence, word for word: ^Tt was very little they 
asked of the Christians of old, merely an exte- 
rior sign, merely the burning of a few grains of 
incense before an idol. They preferred death.^^ 
She had raised her head proudly, and, pale as 
a ghost, like a virgin of old, who rather than 
sacrifice to that which their executioners called 
Gods, preferred to descend into the arena and be 
devoured. 

never thought you were a fanatic,^’ said 
Eaoul, frightened by the expression upon her face. 

^^Nor am I, for I would not condemn a woman 
for doing what you are asking me to do. Ah, no ; 
I could not condemn her,^^ and her voice grew 
tender, as if she sought all excuses for this im- 
aginary criminal. ^^But for me, I cannot — no, I 
cannot.^^ 

^^Because you are selfish — ^because you do not 
know what it means to love V’ cied Eaoul passion- 
ately. 

He had risen and stood looking down upon her 
with a glance that made her shudder and grow 
paler yet, if possible. 

am going; I shall leave you to your imper- 
turbable peace, which seems to be dearer to you 
than anything else in the world.^^ 

She laid a trembling hand upon his arm. 


Constance. 


219 


do not talk so — ^do not, I pray yon; yon 
wonld not kill me. Ah, Eaoul, can yon not see 
what I am snffering?^^ and she burst into a flood 
of tears. 

He was convinced. The sight of those eyes 
bathed in tears, the despair in her childish voice, 
the gesture of this drowning woman who clung 
to the one shred of hope — all had rushed into his 
heart and silenced his voice of complaint. He 
drew her toward the bench, and sat down beside 
her again. She was still sobbing. 

^^Can you not see what it means, Constance, to 
awaken so suddenly from such a beautiful dream ? 
I was wrong, perhaps, to place too much confidence 
in your father when he said ^have confidence,^ 
thinking he knew you well enough not to lend me 
false hope. Which one has been the most de- 
ceived 

^^Neither one nor the other,^^ she said softly, 
^^since we love each other. But my situation is 
unusual, you admit. Generally a girl has her 
family to protect her from herself. I — I have 
no one; my father has been the first to break 
through what I consider my duty. Spare me; 
be generous; be patient; leave me the time to 
look clearly into my own mind. There is one 
thing of which I feel certain, that is, that God is 
too good to permit that all should be at an end 
for us.^^ 

^^What must I do said Eaoul, abandoning his 
future to the feeble little hands that he kissed 
wildly. 

^^Go away, under one pretext or another; I can- 
not leave here again.^^ 


220 Constance. 

“Must it be for long?” 

He was at the mercy of this child and, sad as 
she was, she felt the necessity of enforcing her 
command. 

“You will send me one word the day these 
phantoms that separate us will have vanished for 
they are mere phantoms.” ’ 

She smiled sadly, but did not reply. 

“Good by, my father will be looking every- 
where for me. She was already a few feet away 
from him ; she turned back and threw him a kiss, 
and then hurried on rapidly, almost running. He 
followed her with his eyes, recalling how he had 
first met her beneath these trees coming toward 
him like the child of fortune and bringing a glad- 
ness into his life he had long ceased to hope for. 
Was this joy leaving him now forever? Ho; but 
he must wait until her mind could grow accus- 
tomed to a marriage slightly different from most. 
He would write her all he had not had an oppor- 
tunity to say to her; the impression would only 
be the stronger. Then he had the doctor as an 
ally. 

Although he chafed against this unexpected 
obstacle, which suddenly sprang up before him 
and barred the road, he felt that she loved him. 
The certainty intermingled with her decision in 
a delicious and cruel impression. She had en- 
snared him like a little sorceress, she had con- 
quered him, formidable adversary that he was. 
She had spoken of desertion. Yes, but desertion 
seemed infinitely sweet to him if it might be in 
his favor. 

Stany had already reached the house, where she 


Constance. 


221 


had entered by a side door unobserved in the midst 
of the clamor of the guests. They were dancing 
in the salon and in the garden with the abandon 
all lack of formality generates. 

^^You have passed a sorry day, while we have 
been amusing ourselves, ma chere/' said Henri- 
ette, embracing her. 

But she was too full of gaiety and the pleasure 
of going to take possession of a little home all her 
own to permit the cares of another to weigh 
heavily upon her, in spite of the love she felt for 
her cousin. 

shall be more Vaillante^ at your wedding,^^ 
she added, never dreaming that she was plunging 
a poniard into the heart she meant to cheer. ^^Let 
us hope you will not make us wait a long time, 
ehr 

Stany murmured that nothing definite had been 
arranged as yet. 


N 


222 Constance. 


CHAPTEE XVIII. 

If Constance had counted npon any support 
other than from her own conscience, she was to 
be bitterly disillusionized. Her godmother left 
her entirely at sea in this matter, although she 
could frame no excuse for her negligence and had 
almost come to think it indifference. Perhaps 
the doctor had requested Madame de Latour-Am- 
bert to refrain from meddling with a question 
where he considered no outsider had a right to 
intrude. In reality the mixture of religious scru- 
ples and worldly wisdom alone prevented the 
Baroness from replying to a question upon which 
she was not prepared to give a positive answer. 
She never replied at all. Perhaps she was be- 
ginning to realize the far-reaching effect of her 
influence upon the mother, and to realize it with 
a feeling of repentance, and preferred to shirk all 
responsibility in this matter. 

If Marguerite Duranton had not renounced her 
early religion her daughter would have been a 
Protestant, and free to give her hand to a worthy 
man whose worldly position and wealth argued 
greatly with the Baroness. She shrank from in- 
tervening in the destiny of this child again, for 
her early influence was responsible now for all 
the complications that had arisen. It became 
painfully evident that every individual should seek 


X 


Constance. 


223 


to live his own life and leave the fortunes of every 
other to himself. Madame de Latonr-Ambert was 
learning to reason with herself a little late in life, 
but it was little better after all than the philoso- 
phy of egotism. She wrote to Dr. Vidal and as- 
sured him that Stany would be much better off 
with her, and more likely to forget this first at- 
tachment, than she would by remaining in the 
neighborhood where the affair had all been en- 
acted ; and that probably in time she could marry 
her advantageously after she had forgotten this 
lamentable affair in a measure. But to Stany the 
idea of regaining through her godmother the few 
worldly advantages she renounced with this mar- 
riage, was infinitely repulsive. Abbe Eudes wrote 
her more touchingly than the others, but cold 
theological arguments were not very eloquent com- 
pared to the pleading of the love in her heart. 

The judgment of the Church was not a waver- 
ing one, and she could hope for no alteration in it, 
but no priest dare tell her that in following her 
duty, painful as it was, she would eventually pro- 
cure herself any happiness ; she was trampling her 
heart beneath her feet, and she knew full well it 
could never be brought to love again. What did 
Abbe Eudes know of such love as hers? — a love 
wherein her own life counted so lightly she would 
willingly have laid it down to know that Eaoul 
might always be happy. The poor cure of the 
village knew nothing of her suffering, either, in 
spite of all his goodness — because of his goodness, 
perhaps, for none know the bitterness of a broken 
heart but those who have experienced it. How 
was he to understand that in dilating upon the 


224 


Constance. 


mental and moral agony of spirit she would en- 
dure, once married to a man after snch a manner, 
and scorned by the world — how was he to know 
that he was tempting her to step beyond these re- 
strictions in the belief that the worldly suffering 
would compensate for the worldly sin ? She could 
endure anything for Eaoul. 

The mystical tendency of her imagination led 
her to dream often of a new species of martyrdom, 
a huge, burning mass of timbers into which she 
should be thrown with all that she had cherished 
so fondly until now — all her convictions, her 
hopes, her principles. How many times had this 
sentiment impelled her to write a burning mes- 
sage of recall to Eaoul which she never sent, for 
once regaining her equilibrium each time she tore 
it up and threw it to the four winds, responding 
to her frequent messages from Italy with platonic 
tenderness. 

M. de Glenne was waiting at Florence not en- 
tirely discouraged, for he thought he could dis- 
tinguish in Stany’s letters a sort of gradual re- 
lenting; he followed his historic researches to 
help pass the tedium of exile, and sarcastically 
likened himself to Jacob tending the sheep to 
merit the hand of Eachel. He did not imagine, 
however, that the test would require fourteen 
years. His letters were full of tenderness, and 
full of a future wherein he persisted in seeing her 
as his wife, walking side by side through life’s 
pathway — a pathway rendered joyous and beauti- 
ful by a mutual love, a love that increased with 
their years, instead of diminishing. 

After his first violent outburst of temper, the 


Constance. 225 

doctor had refrained from mentioning the subject 
again ; perhaps he saw that his voice in the matter 
merely lent determination to this little girl^ strug- 
gling with the impulses of her heart. It was cu- 
rious; he had not believed at first that the strug- 
gle could be of such duration. He had hardly 
credited Stany with sufficient determination. 

Many times Constance had looked up to find 
her father^s glance fixed curiously upon her with 
that attentive air he had in examining some cu- 
rious new specimen he had found in his rambles 
through the woods, and one he could not classify. 
Evidently he thought her slightly fanatical, per- 
haps a little worse, but he said nothing. The Du- 
rantons were relatively reserved and discreet, too ; 
the pastor seemed to shirk any opportunity to 
speak to her alone. Madame Duranton would 
launch an innuendo now and then, over the top 
of her crocheting, about the absurd rigor of Pap- 
istry binding and chaining its children against 
their will. She did not favor divorces amongst 
Protestants, certainly not, but the horror she felt 
for Catholics rendered her very liberal at times. 

As for the naive Henriette, she launched forth 
upon the joys of marriage with the most charita- 
ble regret in the world that Constance was to be 
deprived of so much happiness. 

Thrown upon her own resources, and to the 
cherished letters which she wore to shreds in her 
pocket and beneath her palpitating heart at night, 
she seemed to be gradually growing less deter- 
mined. First, she had stopped consulting those 
little blue books of her mothers so frequently; 
then she had avoided even opening the little desk 


226 


Constance. 


that had held them for all these years; she even 
lost the key as a safe precaution. Her letters to the 
Abbe Budes had almost ceased ; on the other hand, 
she wrote to Eaonl with unceasing regularity. In 
reality, she seemed to be giving herself over to the 
current that was inevitably dragging her toward 
her destiny. 

It had been probably six weeks since the mar- 
riage of Henriette, when the doctor found her 
more nervous and upset than usual one day, and 
upon inquiry found that she wanted Bereto to 
drive her to Nerac. The order was given at once. 
Stany gave herself no time for reflection ; the pre- 
ceding night, while her heart had wandered in the 
darkness of disappointment there had suddenly 
come to her a strange thought, like a flash from the 
depths, — a light she hardly dared question for fear 
it might depart and leave her more desolately alone 
than before. She gave herself up to it gladly, un- 
questioningly. She could scarcely wait to put it 
into execution. 

^^My uncle,^^ she thought, ^Vill encourage me 
and lend me a helping hand.^^ In fact, she had 
Bereto drive her directly to the Duranton’s. 

The pastor was alone, preparing his sermon for 
the following Sunday, in the midst of a pile of pa- 
pers from which he had been gleaning a text. 
When she walked in upon him so unexpectedly he 
was visibly annoyed. 

^^You see, my child,^' he said, was obliged to 
give the boys a holiday in order to get a little 
peace ; their mother has taken them to Henriette’s, 
and I was here alone, not expecting any company, 
trying to profit by the quietude to do a little nec- 


Constance. 


227 


essary work. A family is a great blessing, I think, 
but we must admit that they very often interfere 
with our more serious undertakings.^^ 

^^That is to say, uncle, that I am in your way.^^ 
^^What an idea ! not at all. I am speaking en- 
tirely of those children who compel me to commit 
the sin of getting into a great temper, often, I 
fear. Perhaps you want to see your aunt ? Shall 
I send and fetch her, or would you prefer going 
to her?^^ 

^^No, uncle, you are not to be rid of me quite so 
easily. I came to talk with you — yes, upon a se- 
rious question.^^ 

^^Nothing so very terrible, I trust. You seemed 
changed in a measure since a little time.^^ 

am changed,^^ replied Constance with a half 
smile; ^^changed so that I scarcely know myself. 
Father has spoken to you, has he not, of the rea- 
sons for postponing this — my marriage 
The pastor nodded affirmatively. 

^^Sit down, Stany; I am listening.’^ 

suppose, uncle, you must have approved of 
my conduct in the matter 

^^Certainly I approve, and I admire you for liv- 
ing up to your duty, when you inclinations all 
push you against it.^^ 

^^But is it really duty?^^ 

^^The words of our Saviour, as we read them in 
St. Matthew, seem to me very precise, and person- 
ally, I regret that they are not followed word for 
word. However 

^^However,^^ said Stany quickly, ^^all the Prot- 
estants accept the decree of divorce.^^ 

^^You mean to say that divorce is recognized in 


228 


Constance. 


all Protestant countries, although it is surrounded 
with more difficulties than the Catholics generally 
admit/^ 

^^And in France, uncle, since the law has been 
re-established 

^^In France there exists two factions among our 
pastors, so that our synods, in the face of so much 
opposition, have refrained from imposing an ab- 
isolute rule; those who do not sanction the di- 
vorce are not compelled to recognize it in reunit- 
ing parties who have profited by it. This proves 
our spirit of freedom; respect for conscience is 
deeply rooted in our religion, but I believe that 
which is the most universally accepted will domi- 
nate the others. The French Church does not 
marry; since the marriage is a civil ceremony, 
there is no necessity for the Church meddling in 
the matter ; two people who present themselves for 
our prayers are already married. Practically, I 
would not refuse my blessing except where I con- 
sidered I had very just cause.^^ 

^^And so far as M. de Glenne is concerned, there 
would be no just cause,'" said Stany quickly. 
^^When we first met he had been separated from 
his wife for years for some very grave faults she 
had committed toward him. This new affection 
had in nowise served to disunite them. M. de 
Glenne was free, and I did not even know that he 
had ever been married." 

The pastor nodded in sign of acquiescence. 

^^The more I think of it, the more it seems to 
me that M. de Glenne has the right to begin his 
life anew under these conditions. He would com- 
mit no wrong toward any one." 


Constance. 


229 


^Trom all I can hear that is quite trne/^ inter- 
rupted M. Duranton. ^^He has nothing for which 
to reproach himself.^^ 

^^ISTothing/^ said Stany; ^^he is honor and good- 
ness itself/^ 

They fell into silence again, while the expres- 
sion of the pastor^s countenance seemed to ques- 
tion what this child could be leading up to. 

^^You admired me, uncle, for obeying my duty, 
rather than my inclinations; would it be possible 
to make them one and the same?^^ 

The pastor rubbed his chin quizzically. 

^^Hum,^^ he said; hardly see how you could 
arrange matters at Home. She makes few conces- 
sions, and those only for princely interests.^^ 

^That is just the sort of concession that is re- 
volting to me; it is what would give me courage 

to She stopped suddenly, quite overcome 

with what she was about to say. ^^Certainly I 
would never consent to a marriage where God 
had no part, and it is precisely of this that I wish 
to talk to you. I belong to a Protestant race, 
after all; the abjuration of my mother was mere- 
ly an accident. I could return to the faith which 
has been that of my entire family, and obtain, 
from a faith less rigorous than the Catholic, the 
blessing which would stop all scandal and leave 
me in repose.^^ 

It seemed to her while she spoke that her heart 
beat wildly with the monstrosity of the idea she 
had scarcely given herself time to think out entire- 
ly, and her voice had died to the echo before the 
last words had left her lips-; she raised her eyes 
timidly toward the pastor. The drops of perspi- 


230 Constance. 

ration were standing in great beads upon his fore- 
head and his hands were convulsively joined; he 
was looking at her as he would have looked at Mar- 
guerite twenty years before had she come to him 
and said: “I am coming back to my own faith.” 
This child was just the age of his dear little lamb ; 
she spoke with the same tones ; she resembled Mar- 
guerite in everything, and the illusion had been so 
real for a moment that the pastor had lost sight 
of time, place and circumstances; he was in that 
cold parlor at Saint-Denis, and seeing Marguerite 
fading from him; he had seized her and brought 
her back to the God of their ancestors. 

“You will be with us again — forever,” he stam- 
mered. 

“Yes, uncle, if you wish it?” 

The pastor’s big black eyes looked eagerly into 
the troubled, anxious face of his niece; suddenly 
he sighed deeply, passed his nervous fingers 
through his hair, started to his feet and walked 
heavily about the room, like a man trying to walk 
off the effects of an over-indulgence in wine. His 
face had seemed almost congested with redness a 
few moments before, and now he was pale and 
silent. 

“You love each other very much,” he said, tak- 
ing Stany’s hands in his. 

His response had struck home; Stany covered 
her face with her hands, and her whole frame shook 
with sobs. 

“My child,” said the pastor with a majesty that 
came to him upon occasion and contrasted strange- 
ly with his usual bourgeoise appearance; “my 
child, God knows I would give the years left me 


Constance. 


231 


of life to see you voluntarily return to the faith 
of your fathers^ that you might believe as we do, 
but I cannot aid you in following a will-o^-the- 
wisp, in making a dupe of yourself. Are you sure 
you are not sacrificing your faith to a purely hu- 
man idol? Is it not simply your own interests 
which brings you to me upon this mission? My 
dear child, we cannot deceive God. Look well 
into your own soul; refiect. If you come to me 
again in a few days and tell me that you are se- 
rious in this demand, I shall understand that I 
have misjudged you, and I shall thank God for 
that blessing as I have never thanked him for 
anything in this world."^^ 

She was still crying, disconcerted by his clair- 
voyance, humiliated to the bottom of her soul; 
for the pastor had placed his finger directly upon 
her spiritual cowardice. 

^^If, on the contrary, you never speak to me of 
it again — well, I shall keep the secret of this in- 
terview, and forget that you have come to speak 
with me of it, to ask me in a moment of folly to 
aid you in obscuring your conscience.’^ 

Stany took the big brown hand of her uncle 
and kissed it with veneration, with repentance, 
too. Madame Duranton entered at the same mo- 
ment. When the pastor and his wife were alone 
he said to her: 

^^My dear, a strange thing happened to me dur- 
ing your absence. The spirit of falsehood offered 
me a kingdom if I would worship it.” 

^^What do you mean by this parable?” asked 
Edelmone, who was a long, ways from guessing the 
real truth. ^Tf it came to matter of kingdoms or 


232 Constance. 

profits I recognize you readily in the refusing of 
them/^ 

refused/^ replied the pastor sadly, ^^but in 
truth I am almost sorry I did, and I hope the 
offer will be renewed/^ 

^^So long as it is not the devil who renews it,^^ 
said Madame Duranton, still in the dark as to 
what he meant. 

^^That is the important point.^’ 

But Constance made no new attempt. She had 
thought that her uncle would hasten to meet her 
half way in the matter, and smooth out the diffi- 
culties for her; she had counted upon the pastor 
to silence those scruples she had been unable to 
silence alone. Instead, he had torn aside the 
veil with which she had sought to cover her inten- 
tions, and said : ^^We cannot deceive God,^^ and she 
felt now that she could never succeed even in de- 
ceiving herself. She wrote M. de Glenne: 

have done what I promised you. I have la- 
bored with all my strength to dispel what you 
termed ^phantoms^; I went to an extreme that I 
can scarcely comprehend now, but the end — for 
this is the end — is that these phantoms will not 
permit themselves to be dispellled; they are more 
real for me than all the rest of the world together. 
How shall I explain it to you? I believe it is 
impossible to explain this; we shall be obliged to 
pass over it. I should hate myself, I should be 
so miserable that you would be ten times more 
unhappy then than now merely to see me. Forget 
me, since it is all that is left to us. I must bow to 
your resentment, even to your hate, but you must 
not seek to see me again. I scarcely feel at liberty 


Constance. 


233 


to tell you that the simplest arrangement would 
he to exile yourself again from your home, but 
you have the whole world before you, and I — I 
am chained to this little corner of the earth where 
my father is; I ask nothing more than to be al- 
lowed to remain with him. You are generous and 
you must decide upon what you consider the best, 
but I have one request and I make it in the 
name of the love I bear for you — that you will not 
seek to break through this resolution of mine; 
it is absolute. It would merely mean a redoubling 
of the suffering I am now enduring. Adieu.^^ 

To this fragmentary letter that she had bathed 
in her tears. Monsieur de Glenne responded, as 
a man of the world in whom even the deepest 
grief cannot rob entirely of his savior faire: 

^^My dear little girl^ you do not measure the 
harm you are doing, you cannot comprehend the 
bitterness you are inflicting; determined, as I 
am, never to grieve you, I shall obey you, cost 
what it will. If I were twenty years old, I would 
brave your resentment and throw myself at your 
feet, and perhaps the sight of me would disarm 
all your resolutions. I am no longer young enough 
to dare it ; I have neither confldence in myself nor 
in my destiny; when I met you I thought I had 
lived through my part of pleasure on earth, and 
for a long time I persisted in deceiving myself as 
to the feeling I had for you. But it took complete 
possession of me, and opened a future of which I 
had scarcely dreamed in my wildest, most enthus- 
iastic moments. It lasted but a brief space; you 
are leaving me poorer than you found me, leaving 
me more irritated than ever against the vain forms 


234 


Constance. 


of a religion which I already scorned. I think 
it must be denied to most men to grasp the subtle- 
ties of feminine thought, but fatality forces ns to 
worship where we cannot comprehend. But it 
seems to me that were I in Stany’s place I should 
have seen in this pretended crime an act of 
charity; the reconciling of an infidel, the leading 
back into the paths of righteousness the sinner 
who had strayed afar; there, indeed, was some- 
thing to tempt you. Gratitude to God for the 
first blessing He would have conferred would have 
brought him back to the fold from whence he had 
wandered. You would have accomplished nothing 
but good, while now, perhaps, you are responsible 
for just the opposite. Pardon — I do not mean to 
menace you with unworthy thoughts, but I do 
not know what will become of me, now that you 
have withdrawn the support that had grown so 
sweet and so necessary to me. Do not reply to 
me that you are not thinking alone of this world ; 
it is the Catholic in you that would prompt that, 
and I should feel that all women in this world 
were merely egotistical — thinking merely of their 
future, with no charity for the struggling sinner. 
Your soul is burdened with superstition that has 
been inculcated too long to be obliterated. How 
can you believe God capable of punishing a being 
for the one pure unselfish affection of this life? 
If He is so cruel, if you are to encounter a tyrant 
capable of punishing that which is the most meri- 
torious, the most touching, in his creatures — 
pity, — would it not be better to brave all by living 
the life of love and resigning yourself to an eter- 
nity of punishment to expiate it ? You would know 


Constance. 


235 


that he who loved you had been happy through 
you, really happy, snatched from the bitterness 
that was enveloping his soul — the bitterness that 
was rendering him bad and useless. But you pre- 
fer to cling to a false conception of duty. You 
forget that you are throwing over me, as over your- 
self, a funeral pall. Some day, perhaps, you will 
realize how your notions of right and wrong have 
been false, and that there exists no wrong except 
that which we do to others. I hope then you may 
not be tilled with remorse for your hardness to- 
ward me. No matter when it is to come, I shall 
wait until the last hour for my pardon from you; 
it can come from nowhere else, for the condemned 
never resign themselves to death. We might have 
been so happy, Stany.^^ 

^^Happiness Eaoul de Glenne still counted 
upon it. His letter might have struck a woman 
more experienced in the ways of the world as be- 
ing too full of calculation, but it merely touched 
the vulnerable place in Stany, as he had expected 
it would. For a few moments she had been blinded 
by the reasons he had held up against her relig- 
ion, but more, perhaps, by that final appeal which 
had quivered like an arrow in her heart ; it meant 
intense agony to her, an agony worse than death. 
Doctor Vidal continued to watch her closely, and 
he felt that her resolution had never faltered 
once ; she had decided upon the right. 

^^Mignonne, you must render me this justice; I 
have no wish to add to your suffering by remon- 
strating with you, but it costs me a great deal, as 
well as yourself — a great deal.^^ 


236 


Constance. 


^^Dear papa/^ she said, embracing him, ^^are we 
not very happy together 

^^No, we are not happy; you are suffering con- 
stantly, and I am suffering because you are. I 
blame myself severely from beginning to end. I 
am entirely responsible for it all. I took the 
wrong road. I thought I was doing for the best. 
It is very difficult to understand you women. My 
desire was to see you married as you wished.^^ 

^^Ah, papa, I have come back to my old way of 
thinking about marriage, and I am as opposed to 
it as I used to be — you remember ? So nothing is 
so very different, after all.^^ 

^^But when I shall no longer be here, little one ? 
It is the greatest trouble I have, do you see, to 
leave you all alone 

^^You are not going to leave me, papa ; you are 
young and vigorous. Are you afraid that when 
I shall be alone I will not know how to behave 
myself 

Wisely, I am not sure — ^but bravely, certainly. 
You make me think all the time of some poor devil 
who lies dying beside an open box full of gold with 
which to save himself from starvation, for I have 
eyes, although I say little. What gives you this 
courage ? Hush, now you are going to answer with 
some foolishness.^^ 

He was silent a moment while Stany, seated 
upon his knees, with her arm about his neck, said : 

^^I do not merit all these praises ; go ask Uncle 
Duranton.^^ 

^^He ought to throw himself at your feet and 
ask pardon; he, a priest, who calls all that fool- 
ishness virtue. I call it all folly 


Constance. 237 

the honesty that respects the bank 
notes interrupted Stany, smiling. 

^^No, I withdraw my comparison, for you al- 
ready have the bank notes; that is where the line 
is drawn between honesty and folly.^^ 

they were really mine, legally mine, I would 
take them,^^ she said, lowering her head. 

^^It is a mere absurdity that keeps you from it.^^ 
^We must be guided, papa, by what we feel and 
think. If I am wrong, you unaerstand that it is 
certainly not to my credit or profit; but now you 
are scolding, it seems to me, and you were just 

fiattering yourself a few moments ago 

forget; it seems to take me out of myself. 
Forgive me, Stany. This brave fellow who loves 
you interests me ; he interests me a great deal, but 
we can manage to live without him, I presume. 
If I could avoid seeing you melting away like wax 
in the fire! You are ill, my child, and ill of a 
disease against which I am powerless to help you, 
a trouble that is nameless, that is not in your 
body,^^ said the doctor, relapsing into silence, while 
Stany watched him, with her heart palpitating 
with emotion, forgetting everything which did not 
comprise the hope she had cherished so long in re- 
gard to her father. It was a long silence while 
their hearts traveled the same highway. Finally 
the doctor said: 

religion which has such a power over the 
heart of a child is a grand thing, after all.^^ 

^^Oh, papa — ^you believe it? You see it now? 
If you might really believe it, I would be con- 
soled for everything I have lost.^^ 

believe it; stop there, my dear. There are 


238 


Constance. 


many things to be upon our guard against. It is 
not to be despised, that is all. I believe in the 
power it has, the power averse to paternal au- 
thority, to reason and to love.^^ 

^^No, papa; without that I know I should love 
you less — know. Do not spoil what you have 
said, for it makes me so happy 
L He drew her closer to him. 
f you might be, really, everything would be 
all the same to me. Listen, I believe in all the 
saints, all the time. Are you satisfied 

^^Ah, you would be less duped if you would only 
believe a little bit in God,^^ cried Stany, laughing 
with real joy. 

She felt that day that the recompense was not 
so far off, and that our every effort has a result 
ofttimes greater than we could even hope for. It 
is as impossible for us to measure the result of a 
bullet fired at random as to measure the result of 
a handful of wheat thrown to the four winds. 
Every act must bear its fruit, for good as well as 
for evil. Stany felt that while she was breaking 
her own heart, she was perhaps regaining the soul 
of her father and bringing him to God, and she 
was better equipped than ever against the plead- 
ings of Eaoul. She had other subjects to occupy 
her mind for the week following, and to keep her 
thoughts from the absent. 


Constance. 


239 


CHAPTEE XIX, 

The late autumn was rainy and damp, as it 
usually is in Gascony, resulting in a great deal of 
illness. About the middle of Decemb^er a case of 
diphtheria manifested itself in one of the remote 
farms of the neighboring parts, an isolated place 
lying near a little lake hidden beneath the pines. 
The epidemic reached the village, and several chil- 
dren were taken to the cemetery as a result. One 
of the younger members of La Pistolere’s family 
was stricken; the doctor succeeded in saving this 
child and several others by multiplying himself, 
so to speak, acting first as doctor and then as 
nurse, for the parents, overcome and terrified by 
a malady of which they knew nothing, were im- 
able to apply the remedies the doctor prescribed, 
exaggerating their usual helplessness in case of 
urgent need. The doctor visited the infested 
homes from morning to night, having forbidden 
Stany to enter one of them for fear of contract- 
ing the disease. 

^^Let me attend to iV^ he would say ; am quite 
sufficient. An old person like me has nothing to 
fear — I am hardened; besides, I have the advan- 
tage of being a doctor, and doctors are invulnera- 
ble, you know.^^ 

Constance had begged to be permitted to share 
his hardships, but he had insisted upon her prom- 
ising him not to disobey him in this matter. She 


240 Constance. 

waa reduced to waiting for him at the window un- 
til he would return from a day of hard work, 
worn out and harassed, with his face bearing the 
lines of suffering from the heartbreaking scenes 
he had witnessed during the day. Before he would 
permit Stany to come near him, he would hasten 
to change his garments, and take all the precau- 
tions necssary to avoid any possible contagion; 
then he would let her comfort and soothe him, 
glad that she had rebelled firmly against follow- 
ing out his instructions and seeking a refuge with 
the Durantons during the epidemic. 

By a tacit understanding, neither the father 
nor daughter broached any painful subject dur- 
ing these few hours of repose and pleasure. Stany 
made every effort to amuse and hold her father’s 
attention to take his mind from his work of the 
day. Sometimes he would draw her upon the 
subject of religion through a desire to analyze a 
remedy, the effects of which were so astonishing to 
him; he wanted to probe the matter and discover 
the ingredients. He would listen to her replies, 
her explanations, nodding his head with an indulg- 
ent smile, as if he were listening to childish fairy- 
tales, and he would laugh when she said to him : 

“But, papa, you are a saint, whether you will 
or no, when you devote yourself entirely to 
charity. M. le Cure was carried away with you 
the other day when you were placing that ban- 
dage on poor little Jacquille de la Tapie. Ho 
thought you were so gentle, so patient. He said 
to me : “Ah, why does your father not do that from 
love of the Ixird ? He would raceive a worthy rec- 
ompense.” 


Constance. 241 

The idea of a recompense made the doctor shrug 
his shoulders and laugh. 

do that because it is my profession, and to 
count upon a compensation because I helped a 
poor little sufferer, who died in spite of me, would 
be exorbitant, besides, a crown would bother me 
a great deal. I do not look for any profits. You 
can tell your cure that I have no chance to be dis- 
appointed, so long as I expect nothing.^^ 

^^And he will be capable of replying that perhaps 
you will receive a surprise.-^^ 

''A la bonne heure. We shall see, but I think 
none the worse of it, that I am entirely disinter- 
ested in the little I can do.^^ 

^Wery well ; if you will not be a saint, you shall 
be a hero.^^ 

accept the compliment for all the physicians.^^ 
^^And I, who am not a heroine when it comes 
to a question of my dear papa; I beg of him to 
call some physician to assist him.^^ 

^^When I am too tired to do it all myself I 
will, I promise you. But I hope, all the same, 
that the epidemic will wear out before I do. A 
doctor who would shrink from the fatigue of it, 
would make me think of a soldier who loved his 
profession only in the time of peace. They have 
always been so well about here, it is very humil- 
iating for me. I certainly must conduct myself 
properly in my first engagement.'’^ 

What he called his first engagement was also 
to be his last. One night about Christmas time 
he came home particularly worn, and told Stany 
that she was right, after all.; he intended to get 
gome physician to assist him is his labors ; he was 


242 


Constance. 


hardly able to go another day, which proved, after 
all, that old people were good for nothing ; per- 
haps he had taken a little coldr oo that it was not 
this devil of a disease he was bringing into his 
own honse; in such a case there was nothing for 
it but Stany must leave him entirely in the hands 
of Catinou. He would get well all the sooner for 
not having her to worry about. To himself he 
could but repeat, am done for.^^ And as the 
fever crept over him more and more, he repeated 
mechanically words that Constance tried not to 
hear. 

wish I could have left you in good hands, my 
child.^^ 

He never mentioned the subject again, knowing 
that the little one would have sorrow enough with- 
out aggravating it with useless complaints. 

Stany disputed bravely with death for him, 
asking nothing better than to follow him if he 
could not stay with her, offering all her love in 
exchange for him, as if she were capable of tear- 
ing it from her heart. Then came the moment 
when her last hope took flight, when they had the 
courage to tell her, ^^Nothing can help him.^^ 

She prayed one night beside that bed where the 
sufferer was lying pale and breathless in an in- 
terval of calm. Siiddenly, in looking at him in 
the grey light of the lamp, she saw him open his 
eyes and move his lips slightly. Was he joining 
in her prayer and murmuring words of tender- 
ness? She wished to rise to reassure herself if it 
could be true, but a motion she could not misin- 
terpret kept her upon her knees, praying for him 
to a God of whom he knew little. 


Constance. 


243 


It was that he had asked of her, for no sooner 
had she resumed her prayer than he seemed sat- 
isfied. He asked nothing more. 

A sentiment of triumph had slipped into her 
heart; she was certain now that her sacrifice had 
not been in vain; it had struck the heart of this 
incredulous father as a proof of the aid God 
lends to the feeble to raise them above and beyond 
themselves; it had come to him as a miracle. 

She halted now and again to press her lips to 
the hand she held in hers and to receive the en- 
couragement of the slight pressure it was still capa- 
ble of giving; she prayed aloud^ pleading the 
cause of this man who had searched for truth all 
his life, who had never repulsed the sick, nor the 
suffering, nor the poor, and who had gone forth 
confidently, not knowing how near he was to the 
end of his voyage: nothing or eternity, but ready 
for either one. She was not weeping; her voice 
was firm and clear. The duty before her gave her 
a force she deemed miraculous. He lay very still, 
then she felt she dared ask him to have the priest, 
but she grew agitated and he murmured in reply: 

^^No, no; you alone.^^ 

She knelt down again beside him. She served 
as humbly as she could at those last offices beside 
the dead, beside him who was going forth now to 
fathom that terrible mystery of eternity. 


244 


Constance. 


CHAPTER XX. 

Six weeks had passed since the doctor had been 
laid away beneath the ivy in the little cemetery, 
followed to his last resting place by all those brave 
peasants to whom he had devoted his life, and 
who lamented him as sincerely as if he had been 
their father. 

Stany was a hundred times more desolate now 
than she had been the first day. The almost su- 
perhuman courage she had displayed during all 
that bitter trial had deserted her now it no longer 
served to comfort any one. Of what use could it 
be to deceive herself now. No one would suffer 
simply because she did, and she no longer imposed 
any restraint upon her feelings. 

A lamentable reaction was taking possession of 
her; her energy, her will power had deserted her; 
even her faith had lost its ardor. It seemed to 
her she no longer had any place on earth except 
beside the newly-made grave, where her lusterless 
eyes read and reread the name of Philippe Vidal 
— ^that grave beside her mother. ^Ts it possible 
he lies there she would repeat to herself over 
and over again. ^Ts it possible he has gone to 
rejoin her? Where can they both be now? Do 
they know that I am left alone, desolate, mourn- 
ing ?^^ 

All the truths she had been so zealous in poui:- 


Constance. 


245 


ing into the soul of her father at the last seemed 
to elude her, now that she had such need of them. 
Perhaps her Aunt Edelmone was responsible for 
this in a measure, for she burdened her constant- 
ly with Old Testament exhortations, pouring them 
into her listless mind from morning to night ; for 
the Duranton family, with the best intentions in 
the world, had made it their duty to be with Con- 
stance continually that she might not feel the lone- 
liness of orphanage. 

Her uncle had cordially offered her the hospi- 
tality of his home, hoping, perhaps, that the lit- 
tle interview they had had together would be re- 
newed ; but Constance dreaded that above all else, 
and perhaps she refused him for the same reason. 
She dreaded Madame Duranton, too, with her 
Bible, and the young Capdeveille household, who 
resigned themselves for an hour or two to being 
sad with her, only to return to their cooing with 
renewed vigor. 

When Constance had succeeded in making her 
relatives understand that she preferred remain- 
ing at the Priourat, Madame had assured herself 
that there was no more diphtheria in the neigh- 
borhood and insisted upon sending the boisterous 
young Louison to keep her niece company for a 
week or so to distract her attention. 

It is difficult to make people comprehend that 
a great sorrow is not to be lightly put aside, and 
that it is in solitude alone that we can familiarize 
ourselves with our suffering. The noise and mirth 
of young children about her was heartrending to 
Stany at this period. 

We have all experienced the misery of it, and 


246 


Constance. 


yet we continue to crowd about those we love when 
their misfortune comes in turn. 

She was forced to forget that Madame de Latour- 
Ambert could not tolerate her father during his 
life-time^ for that lady wrote beautifully of him, 
now that he had passed away, but she offered 
plausible, if not strictly truthful, excuses for not 
seeking a refuge with her godmother in this time 
of grief. 

The one mark of sympathy which would have 
found an echo in her heart did not come. Eaoul 
de Glenne continued to observe that silence which 
she had taken at first as a respectful submission 
to her wishes, but which such a sudden and un- 
looked-for catastrophe might have warranted him 
in breaking. Constance had addressed a mourn- 
ing announcement to him herself. This insensi- 
bility to her sorrow was another cause for grief to 
her, and when death had robbed her of her only 
support and counselor, she turned voluntarily to- 
ward that other affection she had voluntarily re- 
pulsed, scarcely knowing which of her two bur- 
dens was causing her the greatest grief. To be 
forgotten is worse than death. 

As the dismal, mournful, winter day slowly spent 
itself, she sat alone at the fireside that the season 
before had been one witness of the happiest days 
of her life — those days in her father^s study with 
him and Eaoul. How often, when the rain and 
wind beat against the window panes, did her 
wretched solitude force itself upon her with re- 
newed agony! Mechanically she would arrange 
the chairs as they had sat the season before, while 
the flickering pine logs threw their shadows 


Constance. 


247 


against the desk where her father had been wont 
to sit and work. It was left in its habitual dis- 
order; a pile of papers lay immovable beneath the 
paper-weight; his scientific books arranged me- 
thodically upon the shelf, were growing dusty from 
solitude, for no one disturbed them now, and the 
pipe that he smoked continually lay upon the desk, 
empty and cold. 

No matter, it was the same frame, and Stany 
saw the picture of the past within it, and lived 
those times over until she forgot the present. She 
lingered lovingly upon every detail, recalling every 
word, every subject they had discussed, recalling, 
too, every look that had passed between her and 
the stranger who sat at the right of the hearth. 
She remembered the weary, dragging hours that 
had separated these nights from one another; she 
had lived only for those evenings, and at the time 
they had seemed weeks apart. To anticipate, to 
believe in her future, was a thing of the past for 
her now. Must she, indeed, always live in this 
tomb with these shadows? Sometimes her mind 
reverted to the Abbe Eudes, and she thought of 
going to him that he might direct her to that re- 
ligious life that her mother had contemplated; it 
would teach her the repose and the beauty of the 
convent life. Then, again, she seemed to grow 
feverish and to feel the necessity of action ; in her 
thoughts she followed all those voyages she had 
followed the winter before in this little study, 
when her father and de Glenne had talked over 
his wanderings upon the earth, but they all ter- 
minated sorrowfully in Italy. 

One night she was pursuing these mental vaga- 


248 Constance. 

bond tours, with her feet upon the fender before 
the fire and her little figure buried in the depths 
of the armchair, when the dogs aroused her with 
their furious barking. Some one knocked at the 
outer storm doors. Then she thought Catinou was 
holding a whispered conversation in the corridor. 
Who could be coming so late? She straightened 
herself up to hear, when Catinou entered, her fea- 
tures distorted with a half smile and a touch of 
alarm, too, and bending over her to whisper, as if 
she thought she was making the situation less 
tense, she said: 

^^Do not be afraid, ma petite, it is he.^^ 

Strange as it seemed to Constance, she felt every 
emotion but surprise; the strangeness of it to her 
had been that he should have waited so long. 

Eaoul had followed Catinou into the room al- 
most timidly. She extended her little white hand 
to him, and the two stood for a moment without 
speaking. They seemed to feel it strange that 
they should each look as they always had; that 
after such an absence there should be so little al- 
teration, although Stany did indeed seem very 
thin and pale beneath her heavy crape, and his 
face was drawn with the lines of fatigue, for he 
had but just left the train, not having even taken 
the time to go to the Park and freshen himself 
after his fatiguing journey. 

^^My poor little child he said tenderly. 

^Ts it really you at last,^^ she answered, with 
tears in her voice. 

He felt it was almost a reproach she was utter- 
ing. At all events he hastened with his excuses; 
he had made all the haste possible ; only the night 


Constance. 


249 


before when he returned from a long trip in Sicily, 
had he learned of the terrible news. He had left 
word in Florence to forward all his letters, and as 
none of them were ever from her, he felt more 
and more that their separation was to be eternal, 
and had lingered in his travels even more than 
he had expected when he left Italy. As fate would 
have it, the announcement of her fathers death 
had not been forwarded, but lay in his room 
amidst a pile of journals and newspapers. Her 
dear handwriting had appeared before him sur- 
rounded with black ; he reproached himself for not 
having felt that she needed him, that she was suf- 
fering, when he had had no word from her. His 
voice was choked with tears, too — he, who had not 
wept since his childhood, which he had forgotten. 
She had never seen her father weep, and the sight 
of Eaoul, who had loved the doctor, overcome in 
this way with emotion, touched her so profoundly 
that she laid her head upon his shoulder and 
cried, too ; cried as she had not done since the day 
they had laid the doctor away, for the relaxation 
of weeping had been denied her ; her grief had been 
tearless and tragic. Their sorrow was mutual and 
sincere, and for the moment left place for no other 
emotion. Eaoul had put his arm around her as 
if he would protect her forever from the bitterness 
of life. For an hour or more they spoke of the 
doctor and their sorrow in the losing of him, their 
dearest friend, recalling all his charity, all the 
sympathy for his friends, all the sublime unselfish- 
ness he had displayed before his death. 

^^You knew him so welV^ Stany said. 

^^And he knew me well also/^ said Eaoul; ^^he 


250 Constance. 

would willingly have called me son. I believe that 
if he could manifest his wishes now, it is to me 
he would confide the task of caring for you. Will 
you not obey him, Stany?” 

She drew herself away from him slightly, re- 
called to the present by the question of her own fu- 
ture. “Papa understands, where he is now, a great 
deal that he would not understand while he lived 
— he sees — he knows. To have seen yon now is 
the greatest consolation I could have had, but it 
is a consolation that must not be renewed.^^ 

''Cherie, what are you saying? I will remain 
at the Park, invisible, if you wish, but awaiting 
your first appeal, to serve you either as a friend or 
brother. You must not deny me the privilege of 
living for you — at a distance if you wish — with- 
out importuning you.^^ 

She looked into his eyes calmly, for she knew 
that a relationship such as that would be impos- 
sible between them, although his words were spo- 
ken with sincerity. 

^Tf I said ^yes," what do you think the to-mor- 
row would be like? Do not delude yourself, or 
me. I know what we should be for one another, 
and it must be all or nothing.^^ 

^^No matter what you do, you shall be all mine 
to the last,^^ said Eaoul impetuously. 

He knelt down beside her, ^^Stany, why make us 
both so miserable? God does not ask such sacri- 
fices of us, even the God you think so implacable 
and jealous. He knows that we cannot live with- 
out each other. Even if He should punish me for 
having been so foolish and thoughtless as a young 
man, there is no reason why He should chastise 


Constance. 


251 


you, who have never known what wrong is. Believe 
me. He would favor me for your sake; He would 
permit me to protect you against the ill winds; 
He does not wish you to push me to curse and 
deny Him. If you will consent, Stany, I will be- 
come a Christian as you are; I will walk in the 
paths that you shall point out; you can save me 
in this world and the world to come.^^ 

He spoke in the language he thought she would 
understand the best as a mother would speak with 
her child. 

^^Save you,^^ she said in a vibrating voice; ^^you 
mean I would condemn us both.^^ 

^^And if that should be true, even if it could be 
true, you do not love as I do, or you would be will- 
ing to accept that sacrifice; you would not fear 
it or speak in such a way of our separation.^^ 

would rather die,^^ she said, so low that he 
could scarcely distinguish her words, ^^than con- 
demn us to the suffering such a breach of faith 
would entail once we came to a full understanding 
of our real situation.^^ 

^^t is adieu, then, adieu for now and for always 
that you mean, Stany. Good by, my love.^^ 
^^Adieu,^^ she murmured almost inaudibly. 

He took her in his arms and pressed her close 
to his heart; it was the last caress he was to take 
from those lips; he was giving up his future, his 
love, his life in this last kiss. 

^^Absence shall not separate us,’^ she said. ^^You 
shall be with me in thought each day, each hour, 
for I know now that you really love me better than 
aught in this world, since you are willing to obey 
me in this sacrifice. Adieu.^^ 


252 Constance. 

He obeyed her gesture and left the house me- 
chanically, while she fell into the chair she had 
occupied when he had roused her from her reverie 
a few short hours before. Catinou found her 
there, late in the night, silent, immovable, with her 
eyes set upon the empty fireplace before her, and 
her thoughts speeding away with the traveler, 
God knew where. 

Raoul lingered in the neighborhood for days, 
hoping she would recall him, trusting to her heart 
to call him back. He even attempted to see her 
again, but this time Catinou presented the in- 
corruptible figure of Cerberus. He grew ashamed, 
after a little, and kept, with a great effort, the 
promise he had given. 

Through the countryside gossip ran riot about 
his return and speedy departure. Every one be- 
lieved he had come to marry Mile. Vidal and that 
she had refused him. A number thought her very 
foolish to refuse such a chance of happiness. The 
pastor and the cure, each in their turn, recalled 
that this sort of folly was always termed fanati- 
cism; others preferred to think the request had 
never been seriously made; others, a little better 
informed, said that she had discovered M. de 
Glenne was a bigamist, and the prejudice against 
Parisians grew in proportion. What was appar- 
ently incomprehensible to all was that a young 
girl of twenty would voluntarily resign herself 
to a living grave in the Priourat. 

Constance, however, continued to remain there, 
to the frequently expressed anger of her god- 
mother. She gave herself over to the charity she 
had begun during her father’s lifetime, and in a 


Constance. 253 

measure grew contented with the lot she had 
chosen for herself. 

Her beauty grew more spiritual with the years, 
and her character more firm and self reliant. But 
one thing had served to turn down a page of life 
since that evening when she had bidden adieu to 
all that she cherished in this world; that had 
been a strange paragraph in one of the newspapers 
she had opened several years later — a paragraph 
beginning with the name of Madame Frederike de 
Lebenberg, the divorced wife of M. Raoul de 
Glenne, announcing her marriage with some for- 
eigner, and she thought sadly that nothing pre- 
vents the wicked from reaping a harvest from 
every misdeed. 

Of late a new sign has appeared upon the gates 
of the Park, bearing the inscription: 

^Troperty for Sale. 

Address the Rev. M. Duranton^ Rue de Sully, 
Nerac.^^ 

Perhaps, however, there is some secret under- 
standing between the pastor and the proprietor, 
who still counts upon the intervention of Provi- 
dence ; or perhaps, for some other reason, no pur- 
chaser has presented himself, so Constance Vidal 
goes almost daily to walk beneath the stately trees 
that sheltered her when she was young, and that 
are still to shelter her when she is old, and to 
commune with all that is left to her of pleasure 
in this world. 


THE END. 


Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing Agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: 



JUN 


1996 


BBKKEEPER 

PRESERVATION TECHNOLOGIES. INC. 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Twp., PA 16066 
(412)779-2111 




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